Tempus Fugit
by Stylophile
Summary: A monumental cock-up in Potions leaves Harry and Draco contending with more than mutual enmity, and a strong desire to utter all manner of profanities. Slash, sex and slurred words ensue.
1. Recipe For Disaster

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Chapter 1: Recipe For Disaster

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I think that God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability.   
~*~

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake.

Macbeth - Shakespeare 

~*~

The Potions Classroom of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was unique in several ways. The most unusual of these was a peculiar anomaly in the fabric of space itself that caused a small, localised atmospheric shift and seemed to grind the passage of time to a halt. 

Harry was watching the ornate clock that hung over Professor Snape's desk; each of its intricate hands were moving at a leisurely rate, the ticks and chimes coming achingly slowly. He was not the only one whose eyes sporadically returned to the clock before sighing in disappointment to find that mere seconds had passed. Minutes spent in the dungeon seemed to pass like hours, and even his fellow students appeared languorous and torpid. 

Snape was speaking to them in his usual acerbic manner, lacing his words with snipes at the Gryffindors' expense. They were berated for setting up their cauldrons too loudly, for talking in class, for dropping their quills on purpose and for all manner of imagined crimes. After Gryffindor had lost its thirtieth house point within ten minutes, Ron protested.

"But sir!" he cried, "that deduction of points isn't fair- I wasn't talking!" Snape, who seemed to be in a particularly foul mood, turned to face Ron with a deliberate slowness that made his whole demeanour more icy.

"Detention, Weasley," he growled, "for disrupting the class and daring to contest my method of teaching. I clearly heard you talking to Potter, and am obliged, therefore, to separate you. Weasley, next to Bulstrode. Potter, you can go..." Harry thought he could detect a note of glee in Snape's eyes as he picked a seat for Harry. Ron, grumbling, picked himself up and plonked down next to Millicent Bulstrode, an enormous Slytherin girl that bore a striking resemblance to a moose.

"...next to Malfoy." Snape finished, his eyes glinting maliciously. Harry's stomach dropped about three floors.

"But sir-" he began.

"Now!" Snape roared and Hermione cast him a sympathetic look before Harry gathered his things and set them down next to Malfoy's. The Slytherin looked at him as though he were a piece of dragon dung, as clearly irritated by this particular seating arrangement as Harry was.

"Just try not to fuck up the potion as usual, Potter," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. Snape noticed but said nothing and once more Harry was struck by the distinct unfairness with which he was treated in comparison to snide gits like Malfoy whom Snape seemed to like. Normally Malfoy was partnered by the ever hulking and intellectually challenged Crabbe or Goyle, but both boys were currently holed up in the Hospital Wing, after having eaten sixteen cakes each and suffering acute indigestion.

Ron was looking patently chagrined by being forced to partner Millicent, who had the size and body mass of a young rhinoceros. 

Snape, smirking to himself at the improved seating arrangements, turned back to the board and tapped it with his wand. Curly white writing scrawled over it, detailing the ingredients list and method for a new potion.

"Now that we have finished the series of lessons on the Dream Potions, we are going to start your next topic," he said. Predictably there was no rustle of excitement, and Snape looked rather put out. "Today I am going to have the misfortune to teach you the immensely complex Pertho Draught. I wonder, can anyone tell me the origin of the name?" Hermione's hand shot into the air as usual and Snape rolled his hooded eyes, "Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked jadedly.

"The Pertho Draught was given that name at some point in the early 11th century, subsequent to its discovery. It was given that title because of the unique methods used in preparing the potion, namely the amalgamation of two ancient forms of magic."

"And what are they?" Snape asked her, as if hoping for the wrong answer.

"Rune magic and Herb magic." Hermione said without missing a beat, "there are no animal based ingredients found in the potion and the potency relies on the use of complementary herbs and runes." the Gryffindors whooped, but Snape merely curled his lip.

"Correct," he said, although it looked like it cost him a great deal. "there are many properties of this potion, depending on the way in which it is made and the main elements used. Today we shall be brewing one of the more simple versions containing rosemary, pomegranate seeds, onion, mint, holly and rose petals. These ingredients, when used in conjunction with the runes Kenaz, Dagas, Raido, Pertho and Jera bring about what effects?" The question was ridiculously advanced to pose towards a group of sixth year students. It was something that took a year of studying to answer, a year of reading about the various plants and runes and drawing from them a conclusive theory about their effects. Even Hermione looked stumped. Then Draco Malfoy raised one elegant hand,

"Mr. Malfoy?" Snape said.

"Without the specifications of the parts of the plants, I can only guess," he drawled.

"What would you have said?" Snape asked, and a look as close to kindliness as Snape ever went crossed his face.

"Well," Malfoy frowned slightly, "one of the properties of rosemary is its ability to augment mental powers and strength of will."

"Correct," Snape encouraged.

"Pomegranate seeds are known to bring about ease of divination, but their uses also extend to the granting of wishes and luck," Malfoy paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. Harry looked up, surprised, Malfoy's knowledge of all things potion was clearly more extensive than he had surmised. "onion is used for prophetic dreams," Malfoy went on slowly, "mint for travel, holly for dream magic and rose petals for divination and psychic powers."

"Very good," Snape said approvingly, "and all together?"

"Their combined properties would most likely bring about the effects of a powerful, trance-like state through which a sense of foresight would penetrate, giving the drinker the temporary power to look into the future."

"And the runes?" Snape asked.

"Merely used for augmentative purposes," Malfoy replied, "Raido would give the drinker a sense of control over what they saw, and aid through what would be a journey of the mind. Kenaz would provide ease of learning and encourage knowledge. Jera would promote gestation and change, speeding the cycle of time, and Dagas would render the drinker invisible, allowing them to act as a catalyst between the worlds of the present and the future. Lastly, Pertho would allow for the unearthing of hidden knowledge and discovery of the unknown."

Malfoy finished and the Slytherins clapped wildly. Snape looked ecstatic.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, "thirty points to Slytherin!" Harry scowled slightly, but even he had to admit that Malfoy's answer had merited the reward. Malfoy himself looked much more relaxed, and was heartily accepting congratulations from his friends for the depth of his knowledge. Harry consoled himself by dreaming about the next Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, in which he was sure to show Malfoy exactly what he could beat _him _at.

Malfoy chose that particular moment to shoot a smirk in Harry's direction, and settled himself back in his chair with an air of self-satisfaction. Harry noticed Hermione looking at the Slytherin, her lip stuck out petulantly.

"This potion, as analysed so correctly by Mr. Malfoy, is one of a series of draughts to give the drinker an insight into their own future, by allowing them to swap either the minds or bodies of their future selves. Within some of these potions, when the makers have sufficient innate magic to command the spell, they can actually transport themselves into their own futures, leaving their own bodies in a deep dream in the present. The more weaker versions, such as the one we will be brewing today, merely allow the drinker to look through the eyes, undetected, of their future selves for half an hour, in order to watch themselves as they will one day be. This potion gives you no control over your future body; if you brew it correctly you will find yourselves watching a moving image as though you were inside someone else's head. Whilst being very complicated, it is not an especially difficult potion to brew, and relies on strength of will and power to complete successfully," Snape smiled twistedly, "I expect you to spend just over an hour making the potion and for the last half hour of the lesson you will all get to sample some of what you made. I do not doubt that at least one unfortunate person will be sleeping in their future, and will therefore leave here disappointed." He glanced around, as if praying it would be a Gryffindor.

"Sir?" Blaise Zabini of Slytherin had raised his hand.

"Yes, Zabini?" Snape asked.

"How do we control to what time we travel?"

"That is detailed in the instructions," Snape said, "but as you drink the potion you must concentrate very hard on the number of years you wish to have passed. You will be making this potion in pairs, and it is wise to use each batch of potion to transport yourselves to the same period of time. What I mean, is that you and your partner must agree on a date to head for, rather than both of you drinking with different intents. Now," he turned over a gilt hourglass filled with sand, which began to trickle through into the bottom bulb, "you have just over an hour, all ingredients can be found in the students store cupboard, instructions are in the textbook, begin!"

There was a flurry of activity as the students unpacked their brass scales, pestles and mortars, and their size 3 pewter cauldrons. Harry, resigned to the fact that he would be working with Malfoy for the entirety of the lesson, sighed heavily.

"Oh relax, Potter," Malfoy spat, hearing him, "at least it means you've got a chance at passing this lesson, I'm not exactly going to let you ruin this potion for me." Harry clenched his jaw,

"I'll get the supplies, shall I?" he forced himself to say. Malfoy, who was jotting down some preliminary notes from the board in his elegant scrawl, nodded impatiently. Harry made his way over to the store cupboard. The inside was large and lined with shelf upon shelf of jars. They were filled with viscous fluids, slimy things with tentacles, tiny eyeballs, sprigs of plants and powdered herbs. Harry hated it in here, he always felt as if the eyeballs were watching him.

Trying to ignore the twelve other people who were also jostling to collect their ingredients, Harry picked up the jars of rose petals, rosemary, onion, pomegranate, mint, and holly. He had come to understand that the older spells relied much more on using ingredients that were more readily available. It wasn't until the 1500's that bezoars became widely available, or pickled Boomslang liver was often used. He was grateful that this potion didn't require the use of anything revolting, and thanked the ancient witches for their ignorance of the potency of Manticore bowel.

When he returned to their table five minutes later he saw Malfoy was looking over the notes with a frown.

"This shouldn't be too difficult," he said quietly, then turned to Harry with a familiarly supercilious expression. "Shred that onion into strips no wider than a centimetre or so."

"Stop bossing me around," Harry snapped as he laid the jars down on their table. The knowledge that Malfoy was just going to sit and supervise whilst he did all the work was intolerable, "you do the unpleasant jobs for once."

Malfoy glared at him, "And ruin my manicure?" he said sarcastically, "I don't think so."

"You're such a ponce," Harry retorted, but picked up his black-handled knife anyway, digging it into the onion with more force than was entirely necessary.

"Yeah and you're a plebeian," Malfoy replied smoothly, "so just get on with it, Malfoys don't do menial labour."

"That's your excuse for everything," Harry said unwaveringly, and then feigning a high-pitched, mocking voice, "Malfoys don't do menial labour, Malfoys don't ruin their manicures, Malfoys don't do anything other than sit around sneering." He looked up and grinned contemptuously to see Malfoy glowering at him, the picture of dislike.

"God, Potter, could you be any more of an arse?" he asked rhetorically, taking the shreds of onion that Harry chopped and weighing them on a handsome set of silver scales.

"Better than being inbred," Harry muttered but Malfoy heard him.

"More onion," he snapped shortly, peering at the dial on his scales, "we're eight grams short." Harry moved his knife cleanly and rhythmically, finding a strange satisfaction in parting the onion flesh like water, imagining it to be Malfoy's face. They worked for five or ten minutes in relative silence whilst all around them raged a

storm of noise.

Snape's choice of pairings were not very popular among the students. Hermione could be heard exchanging hissed insults with Blaise Zabini, with whom she was partnered, and Ron and Millicent were arguing loudly over something. There was the crash of broken glass and Harry watched as Snape ordered Ron to clear up a jar he had inadvertently knocked to the ground. Ron's face was like thunder and Harry gave him a compassionate glance.

"When you've finished staring at Weasley," Malfoy's cold voice rose him from his reverie. Draco was looking at him with something unreadable touching his arctic eyes. He motioned to the onion, and Harry gathered it in his hands.

"Here you go," he said, dropping the onion into the scales, which tilted slightly.

"You have no finesse," Malfoy commented, "that's why you are terrible at potions." Harry thought better of answering, as Snape had begun to prowl around the tables, watching them like a hawk. Harry picked up the parchment and read it.

"Pomegranate seeds need to be mixed in with the onion before they're added to the cauldron," Harry said, pointing his wand at his cauldron and saying, "incendio." A blue, magical fire was lit underneath it, making the water inside begin to bubble. "Here you go." he handed the pomegranate to Malfoy, "you can do that."

Malfoy looked at it in distaste, "Ugh, this fruit is disgusting." he said, as the fleshy seeds stained his fingers pink. Harry looked at him derisively,

"You hold salamander intestine every day and you can't handle pomegranate seeds?"

Malfoy shot him another glare. "Salamander intestine, contrary to popular belief, does not have a gelatinous quality," his face then resumed its smirk, "but you wouldn't know that, would you Potter? The last time we brewed the Salamander Seasickness Cure, you didn't even use salamander, did you?" 

Harry's face reddened slightly. He could recall, with perfect clarity, the moment when Snape had ladled his failed potion into the air for the entire class to ridicule. It was supposed to be silvery but was instead was a dark brown, and utterly useless. Harry cringed at the memory.

"Unfortunately for you, Malfoy, your superiority is enclosed solely in this classroom. Pity it doesn't extend onto the Quidditch pitch, but, I suppose, you can't be good at everything," Harry grinned again, watching the tips of Malfoy's cheekbones redden as he carefully extracted each pomegranate seed and tipped them into the scales. He loved knowing that he was the only person who could get under Malfoy's skin this way. Ron's insults bounced of the Slytherin's crystalline façade, but something about Harry's always struck him much deeper.

A couple of people had looked up and turned their heads in their direction, watching with interest. Snape, unfortunately, was one of them.

"Potter!" he snapped, "Watch your tongue!" Harry scowled and returned to their list.

"Done." Malfoy said with a long-suffering air. He tipped the contents of the scales into their cauldron where the liquid turned a sickening yellow and bubbled menacingly.

"Is it supposed to look like that?" Harry asked.

"Of course it is," Malfoy replied, as if daring Harry to contradict his potion-making abilities. He then added with a hint of humour, "what, don't you trust me?" Harry almost smiled but caught himself just in time.

"That'd be a no," he said coolly, "how long have we got left?" Malfoy looked over at the hourglass and the trickling stream of golden sand.

"About thirty-five minutes," he said, and picked up the next ingredient which was the rosemary. Harry hated working with the plant, it always left a distinct scent on his fingers that reminded him of the sausages Uncle Vernon used to shove into his piggy mouth at breakfast. Harry, with his meagre portion of grapefruit, had come to see that recurring scene as a symbol of everything he was denied.

"I'm going to crush this," Malfoy announced unnecessarily, "shred the leaves of the mint and then out them into the cauldron. They have to go into the mixture precisely six minutes after the pomegranate seeds to allow them to soften, so hurry up."

"Yes sir." Harry sighed, raising his fingers to his brow in a mock salute. He saw that Malfoy was suddenly watching him with a hint of amusement curling his customary smirk. "What?" He asked warily.

"Nothing," Malfoy looked away but the expression remained, "I knew you were the submissive type really, Potter." Harry flushed deeply and looked away in embarrassment, but he wasn't sure why.

They worked for a bit longer, a lull falling in their insults, their fingers working smoothly over their ingredients. Harry found himself drifting off into a daydream, watching Malfoy's hands work over the rosemary. His slender fingers plucked every leaf from the stem with a delicate care that Harry had never seen before. The ivory of his skin became the colour of adroitness and the way in which his nails, too long to be anything but effeminate, sliced through the green plant somehow held his attention. It contrasted starkly with the strength with which he crushed the rosemary into a pulp, and it was a paradox that Harry was riveted by.

"Ouch!" The knife had driven cleanly through the skin of his finger and tiny beads of blood were blossoming there. Malfoy looked up.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I asked if you'd be my date for the Winter Ball," Harry snapped acidly. "What does it look like?" Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Fine, Potter," he said, "but that only demonstrates what I said about you having no finesse."

"Oh shut up," Harry sucked gently on his finger, frowning. He glanced back up to the hourglass and managed to shove the mint in the cauldron in time to watch the potion turn to a deep gold.

"That's more like it," said Malfoy, satisfied, and he tipped in the last of his crushed rosemary, "we're nearly done."

"What now?" Harry squinted over Malfoy's delicate writing, "Malfoy, you write like a girl." Malfoy muttered some that Harry didn't quite catch but it sounded something like, 'nothing wrong with being refined.'

"Now we work on the runes." he said, picking up a well-thumbed copy of '_Divination Potions: The Gambler's Favourite_, by _Seamus Luckalot_' and flipping to one of the later pages. "It says here that when the potion is a deep golden colour, we draw the runes in the air above it, and then concentrate hard on our aim, and then we throw in the rose petals. Damn it, there's a potion smudge over the last few words."

"We'll borrow someone else's book in a minute," Harry murmured, pulling out his wand, "come on, we don't have long left."

Malfoy took out his wand as well and, bringing the cauldron to a simmer, he and Harry drew the runes in the air above their mixture. The tips of their wands left a thin golden light in the air, making the runes visible, shimmering like precious jewels, emanating with magic. The runes were spiky shapes, formed from several straight lines crossing each other, each unique and each inimitably powerful. Malfoy was watching them spin thoughtfully.

"What date shall we aim for?" Harry asked.

"Not too far in the future," Malfoy said, "I dread to think what I'll look like in my fifties." Harry smirked.

"Knowing you, you'll be as vain as ever," he said.

"As opposed to you, Potter, who has never picked up a mirror in your life," Malfoy reached over and yanked none too gently at a particularly stubborn strand of jet that hung over his eyes.

"Ouch," Harry pulled back, scowling, "you're such a girl when it comes to your hair," he added as an afterthought.

"A girl?!" Malfoy snapped, "There is nothing remotely feminine about being concerned with the art of grooming."

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, with a sly grin. "So what would you do if I said I could see a split end?" Malfoy looked horror struck.

"Where?" he asked urgently, holding strands of platinum up to his eyes. Harry snickered at him and received a prompt swat on the forehead.

"Are you intent upon assaulting me for the duration of the lesson?" Harry asked, "only please inform me now so I can slip you some poison."

"I would be highly surprised, Potter, if you could even identify a poison out of that store cupboard," Malfoy said with an irritatingly superior look.

"I'm sure I could find something toxic enough to even knock out you," Harry said cuttingly. There was an unpleasant silence as they locked gazes. "Look," he went on, rubbing his temples as Malfoy glared at him, "let's just aim for today eight years from now. We'll be twenty five and hopefully in the prime of life."

"Ok," Malfoy shut his eyes and Harry followed suit, his mind chanting the date over and over, echoing in his head like some holy mantra until it was drumming on its own. He concentrated with every fibre of his soul, forcing his own magic to come out and to mingle with the runes, knowing that Malfoy's was doing the same and that the Slytherin was concentrating with equal fervour. When Harry felt himself physically drained by the loss of energy and unable to keep up the chant in his mind, he opened his eyes. Malfoy looked pale and wan, but his eyes were dancing and Harry could feel their magic pooling amongst the runes, adding potency to their potion, making it stronger.

"Do you think it worked?" Harry asked. They were the only two that had reached that level yet, and the rest of the class was still absorbed in the making of the potion itself.

"I guess so," Malfoy said. "How would I know, Potter? I'm not psychic."

"Fine, fine," Harry said quickly, knowing from past experience that whenever he heard that grating tone in Malfoy's voice, a Jelly-Legs curse was surely on the way. Without warning the runes that had been hovering uncertainly above their cauldron sank into it and the potion deepened in colour until it resembled molten gold itself.

Malfoy picked up the jar of rose petals, and tipped them out into the cauldron. They were each beautifully velvety and damasked in the deepest purple Harry had ever seen. They sat littered atop the thick mixture before sinking into it and the potion emitted some bright gold sparks.

Professor Snape, who was at the other end of the classroom said absently, "When the potion has sparked, and thickened, you may sample a little. You will soon fall into a trance and, if you have done it right, be granted a taste of your future."

Harry was about to attract his attention when Snape hurried over to Millicent Bulstrode whose cauldron seemed to be melting into a toxic, metallic pool that emitted some foul-smelling fumes. Ron was casually wafting these away with his text book and smirking as Snape tried to control the disaster.

"Oh screw it," Draco said. "Let's just see if the sodding thing worked then we won't have to spend any more time together." he poured himself and Harry a tumblerful of what looked like liquid metal.

"I'll drink to that," Harry said and they raised their glasses with a sense of irony. With one swift motion, they drained them. The potion tasted bittersweet with a hint of some sour fruit that he couldn't identify. It wasn't a pleasant taste, and left a stinging sensation burning his mouth. Malfoy looked equally revolted, by the way his face was screwed up in disgust.

"Nice," said Harry, putting his glass down, "shouldn't be long now." Draco, having drunk his glassful, was looking at the potions book from the next table.

"Shit," he suddenly exclaimed. His usual poise vanished from his person at once and the glass he was holding tumbled to the floor and smashed into a thousand pieces.

"What?" Harry jumped, looking alarmed.

"What colour were the rose petals we added, Potter?" Malfoy asked through gritted teeth and with the air of one about to receive some horrible news.

"Purple," Harry said slowly and Malfoy closed his eyes.

"The rose was supposed to be black," he said. "We've made the wrong potion, we've..." he never finished his sentence. Harry watched with horror as Malfoy keeled over backwards and slumped on the floor. He couldn't get up, though, because a cold, trickling sensation was filling his veins, turning them to ice, and he was wrenched from his body with ethereal hands of steel, body frozen rigid, eyes snapped shut.

Through all the blinding colours piercing his brain with their poisoned arrows, Harry could hear the faint screams of his classmates. They all merged into one deafening tunnel of noise that rang around his ears and echoed achingly loudly.

And then everything went pitch black.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was like the jerk of a Portkey but infinitely more painful. Harry could feel his spirit being tugged from his body and he could feel himself resisting with terror, and screaming out in pain. Then everything spun around him and he lost consciousness. When he came round he became aware of three things, even before he'd opened his eyes.

One: He had a splitting headache.

Two: He wasn't wearing an awful lot.

Three: _He was not alone._

There were warm arms encircling him, he could feel them stirring against his skin, and there seemed to be a lot of naked skin available to stir against. He still didn't open his eyes, though, his head was groggy and confused, and he could feel a pounding ache in his temples. There was someone moving next to him, but Harry couldn't for the life of him remember who it was and he silently cursed whatever he had been drinking that night. He could smell something, there was a head nestled close to his and the person's hair smelt faintly of coffee, coffee and smoke. It was a nice smell and Harry instinctively huddled closer, feeling the arms around him tighten slightly.

The unsteadiness of his mind coupled with a lingering disorientation prevented Harry from the countless suspicions that would have ordinarily invaded his mind at once. As he felt the arms close their embrace, he became aware only of a delicious warmth spreading through his body and the most tender sense of comfort he had ever known.

"What the _FUCK!?_" a voice laced with astonishment and dismay rang out suddenly and Harry's eyes flew open. To his immense and everlasting horror he found himself staring into the face of Draco Malfoy.

It was Malfoy, but it didn't look like Malfoy. It was Malfoy aged eight years, Malfoy with flawless, high cheekbones, a vast expanse of pale skin, blond hair that brushed his adult grey eyes, eyes that were widened in shock.

As the last, numbing tendrils of fog cleared from Harry's mind he sat up with an incredible jolt.

"What are you doing!?" he cried. "What's going on?" but Draco looked as dismayed and confused as he did.

"You...?" he began, stuttering, "We...? What...?" Harry came to his senses long enough to realise that they were in a bed. 

__

Together. 

Rolling out with as much speed as he could muster, he stumbled from the bed and leaned against the wall, breathing hard and looking about him. His heart was thudding painfully loudly, and his breath was coming in short, rough gasps. He held his hand over his eyes, as if willing whatever terrifying scene was before him to go away. They were in a large, well-furnished room, with a huge bed in which Draco was currently lying.

"What's happened?" Draco asked blearily, sitting up at once. "Why are you in my bed?"

"Your bed?!" Harry yelled. "How the hell do we know whose bed it is, or why we were both in there?"

"Ok," Draco seemed to be trying to calm himself, "let's just think. Where are we?"

"I don't effing know!" Harry yelled, pacing around the unfamiliar room, his eyes travelling over the alien walls without really seeing them.

"Just calm down for fuck's sake," Draco snapped, "obviously something has gone wrong. What's the last thing you remember?" Harry screwed up his eyes as he thought long and hard. He remembered a lot of darkness in his mind, and before that they had been in potions, and Draco had been yelling something about rose petals.

"I remember Potions," he said with difficulty as disjointed memories began to splinter and fragment into his mind, "and you looking at a book and then shouting something," he couldn't remember what it was that Draco had been shouting, only that it had something to do with their present predicament.  
"Hmm," Draco said, clearly thinking hard, "I remember that too. Something about the ingredients we were using."

"Did we add the wrong ingredients to the potion?" Harry asked as the thought struck him. "Is that why we're here, together?"

"Something has evidently gone wrong," Draco drawled in a more familiar manner, "if you're anywhere near my future." Harry rolled his eyes.

"I didn't think we were meant to have control over our bodies," he said, looking down at his adult figure, "I thought we were just going to see through our future selves' eyes." Draco looked very pensive, as if contemplating something.

"I think I know what happened," he said slowly, his brow furrowed as he, too, fought to concentrate. "We added purple rose petals to the mixture didn't we?" Harry nodded, flashing memories assailing his beaten mind. "We should have added black ones, the rose petals were the spell's most volatile ingredients." Draco held his head in his hands as he realised their mistake.

"How much of a difference will it make?" Harry asked warily. Draco's answering voice was muffled as he spoke through his hands.

"Black petals are for divination," he said dully, "for seeing the future, not particularly potent. The colour purple is used for calling up the power of the ancients and for augmenting any runes or sigils used in the spell. It has a lot more power behind it, and I think, coupled with our own innate magic, it made the potion more concentrated."

"So we've transplanted our bodies instead of our minds?" Harry asked, startled. Draco nodded looking aghast. "Oh shit," Harry went on, "this is not good."  
"You think?!" Draco got out of the bed and walked up and down the other side of the room.

"What can we do?" Harry asked earnestly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and helpless.

"We can see if the spell wears off after half an hour," Draco said decisively. "If it doesn't then we'll have to find an alternate way back."

"Do you think it will wear off?" Harry asked, seeing a faint ray of hope in what was otherwise a horrific nightmare.

"I assume so," Draco said, "there's no reason why it shouldn't. As far as I am aware, all the spells used for these purposes run under a time limit. I don't think we'll be stuck here for long." Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and with his appeasement he suddenly noticed that he was half-naked.

He walked slowly over to where a long silver mirror hung on the wall and gazed at his reflection with wonder. The years were good to him, he had grown into a tall, well muscled young man with an olive, even tan all over his body. His jaw line was strong and well-chiselled, with a shadow of stubble grazing his chin. His eyes were the same clear green and he realised that his vision was corrected, and he could see with marvellous clarity. His hair hadn't changed much in length, but seemed to lie flatter so that he could tousle it appealingly into a controlled mess. He was shirtless and only wearing a pair of heinously low-slung white linen trousers that did little to make him feel more adequately covered.

He looked up and noticed Draco watching him.

"You look different," was all the Slytherin said.

"So do you," said Harry, motioning him to come and stand in front of the mirror. Adult Draco was slimmer, about the same height but less powerful than Harry. His body was still pale but toned and perfectly flat, and his skin seemed to shine like liquid pearl as the shafts of light through the windows landed on it. His face was more sculpted than his adolescent self's, and grey shadows settled under his prominent cheekbones, making him look strikingly elegant, even when viewed in such a state of undress.

"Nice outfit, by the way," Harry said, and Draco looked down at himself to realise he was only wearing a pair of dark grey boxers.

"Oh crap," he groaned as a flush of mortification tinted his cheeks, "Just what I need right now. It isn't a really good day until my worst enemy has seen me half naked." Harry drew his appraising glance away from Draco before it could be noticed, and gave a short snicker to himself.

"I have to say," he replied carefully, "we didn't seem much like enemies earlier, when we woke up."

"That must have been the spell," Draco frowned, "that's the only way we can explain this, by casting it together we must have somehow tangled our future selves together." Harry heartily agreed, unwilling to consider a possible future in which he and Draco became anything less platonic than fervent opponents. There was suddenly a very pregnant silence between them as neither looked at the other and Harry began to feel acutely embarrassed for some unknown reason.

Harry quickly turned around and found a large, grey sweater hanging over the back of a chair. He pulled it on quickly and noticed Draco doing the same with some clothes he found on the floor. There was a magical clock hovering six inches above the bedside table, bright blue numbers flashing 2:36 pm, exactly the time they had drunk the potion in their past.

"I guess we came to the right year," Harry muttered, more for the sake of having something to say to break the prolonged quiet, "even if our locations are a bit messed up."  
"Yeah," Draco replied distractedly, rubbing his face, "well, if we've only got half an hour or so here, we might as well look around. See what the future's like for one of us."

They left the big bedroom and found themselves wandering down a short passage into a living room. It was very tastefully furnished, with white walls and laminated flooring. The furniture was all grey or black and there were two large leather sofas against two adjacent walls, framing a low, glass coffee table. The windows were ceiling to floor and bright light was flooding in from what looked like a surrounding city. 

In one corner there was a silver television set, and in the other there was a bookshelf overflowing with books, photograph frames and small pieces of art. On one of the walls there was a painting of a city scene and on the other was a wizarding picture of a stormy seascape. Harry could tell the picture was magical by the tossing waves that actually moved and the occasional bird that crossed it. Beneath it was a silver fireplace in the cavity of which were stationed several tall pillar candles.

"Nice," he heard Draco muttering from behind him. The blond had pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. Harry paused for a moment to consider how well muggle clothes suited him, but prevented himself from commenting on it, and then shuddered to think where that thought may have come from.

He wandered through into an adjoining kitchen. It was very small, and painted white to match the living room. There were several recognizably muggle appliances, a bottle of Château Margeaux, and some mugs lying around. There was also a calendar hanging above a coffee machine and Harry looked at it with interest. 

"Look at this," he said and beckoned Draco over. The date on the calendar said, 'February 2004' and Harry's heart thudded a little faster with excitement.

"Wow. We did it," Draco said with a marked note of awe at their own skill, "we really are in the future." The calendar was littered with scrawled comments marking planned days and evenings out. Harry gazed at it for a minute before his curiosity got the better of him and he set off to explore the rest of the flat. 

He found a large, completely white bathroom, an office filled with yet more books, oddities, parchment and quills, and a secondary living room complete with glossy black grand piano that stood in the corner in a stately manner. Harry ran his fingers over the keys, listening to them tinkle beneath his hands, and wondering if he could play the piano in his future.

All the rooms were lit with floating glass spheres which hovered motionlessly in the place of lamps or candles, a golden light emanating from their crystalline depths. The flat was beautifully decorated, and seemed to suggest affluent inhabitants. All things considered, Harry was very impressed.

"Oi, Potter!" Draco's raised voice summoned him back into the living room. He was standing outside the glass doors, on what appeared to be a balcony. "Check it out, it's a penthouse!" Brimming with excitement, Harry made his way through the doors and found himself on a small balcony. He followed Draco up a set of wrought iron stairs and emerged onto a roof top. "Whichever one of us owns this flat, owns the whole floor." Draco said, wandering along the roof. There was a low wall surrounding it and from their lofty height they could see for miles. The sun cast a shimmering golden haze over what was unmistakeably a city. There were tall, searing spires that pierced the sky like needles, juxtaposed to smooth, glinting domes. The buildings for miles around hung like insubstantial entities, draped in the haze of the afternoon and soaring towards the clouds that streaked across the sky, colouring it a pale pink streaked with ribbons of gold. Everywhere he looked Harry noticed sunlight reflecting off rooftops and the warm sheen of metal as it bathed in the afternoon sun.

He could hear voices and cars from all around him. He walked over to the edge of the roof and looked down. There were lines of traffic negotiating the roads beneath them, and pedestrians, flitting from shop to shop below. Could it be that their future selves lived among muggles? It was apparently so and Harry looked over to where Draco was standing to see how he was taking this scrap of information. He looked even moodier than usual, if Harry had hitherto believed that to be possible.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Draco said, "it's just so different to what I imagined I'd see."

"What did you expect?" Harry asked.

"To be at the Malfoy mansion in Wiltshire. To see myself and some beautiful blonde lounging beside our beautiful pool whilst our two beautiful Malfoy children go swimming or something," he sighed. "Not in a city flat with you, Potter."

"You have to admit," Harry said, "the flat is great, even by your standards, and you said yourself that we're probably only here together because the spell went wrong. This might be my future life and you just got tugged along for the ride."

"With any luck," Draco said quietly, although he really didn't sound all that hopeful.

"Still," Harry said, "it is lovely. _I_ can imagine being happy here." They stayed on the roof for about ten minutes, sometimes in silence, sometimes in speech. It had an incredibly peaceful air, and Harry could almost feel the magic surrounding him with its bitter scent.

They descended back into the flat a few minutes later,

"What is that thing?" Draco asked suddenly, poking at the television.

"A television," Harry replied, "it's a muggle invention." Draco recoiled sharply.

"A what?!" he barked. "Why would that be here?"

"I don't know," Harry replied with equal ire, "just like I don't know why we're living amongst muggles, why I don't seem to have a broomstick, and why you're here in what is evidently _my _future."

"Supposing it's mine?" Draco asked. "What if you've intruded into mine?"

"Then I'll find away to get to my own body where I can go back to ignoring your existence." Harry replied, "How long before the spell should wear off?" Draco looked at a slim, silver watch around his wrist and his face visibly paled.

"Ten minutes ago," he said and Harry felt a sudden wave of nausea overtake him.

"Oh dear," he said, and sat down on a chair, his legs weakening beneath him.

"That's all you have to say?" Draco looked aggravated. "We might be stuck here together, and all you can say is 'oh dear'?"

"Don't take this out on me!" Harry stood up again, anger flaring. "This isn't my fault!"  
"Oh right," Draco sounded sarcastic, "because you're just a potions whiz."

"It's you who put the rose petals in!" Harry retorted, "It's you who fucked up this potion, not me."

"Well how are we going to get back now?" Draco shouted, "What plan has the great Harry Potter formed for our escape?" Harry clenched his fists in anger and he and Draco faced each other across the living room, two sets of eyes blazing.

"You got us into this mess." Harry said coldly, "You get us fucking out of it." some part of him knew Draco was only picking a fight with him because he was scared and it was an instinctive reaction for him, but right now, Harry didn't care.

"I did not get us into this," Draco replied with equal iciness. "You neglected to bring me the right ingredients, but then again, I should have learned never to trust anything you give me."

"That's right," Harry shouted back, "because my life's sole purpose is to thwart you at every turn. Get a grip, Malfoy, not everything revolves around you!" Malfoy recoiled, stung, "can we just try to find a way home," he went on, "without dwelling too much on your superiority complex."

"Oh _I_ have a complex?" Draco cried. "Whose misguided belief in his own heroism led to the death of his godfather, and the countless other poor people who've had the misfortune to know you?"

Harry was prevented from venting his frustration on Draco with his fists by a knock on the door. His heart jumped into his throat and Draco shot him a panicky look.

"What do we do?" he mouthed. Harry was very unwilling to answer the door, just in case he made a prat out of himself with someone his future self knew and he didn't. He could hardly claim amnesia.

"Hello?" a strangely familiar voice filtered through the door, "Harry? Draco? I know you're in there, let me in!" Harry's stomach flipped as a flicker of recognition shot to the fore of his mind.

"I think it's Hermione," he whispered in awe, and they made their way to the door together. Harry opened it and his eyes widened in shock. It was definitely Hermione, but nothing like the Hermione he had once known. She was tall and slim, with her once-bushy brown hair now tamed and highlighted. She was dressed in chic pinstriped business robes, clasped at her throat with a black emblem. She greeted the stunned Harry with a chaste kiss on the lips and did likewise with Draco who was too astonished to move.

"Why are you both looking at me like that?" she suddenly asked suspiciously, her voice a little deeper than Harry remembered. "And why did you take so long answering the door?" She looked over their hastily-pulled-on clothes and ruffled appearance and a light of realisation seemed to dawn over her face, "Oh, sorry," she winked at them cheekily, "did I interrupt something?" she missed the look of horror exchanged by Harry and Draco and made her way into the living room, setting down her leather briefcase and unfastening her cloak. Underneath it she wore a black pencil skirt, a white shirt and leather, pointed stilettos. Harry was gazing at her, dumb, in a mixture of surprise and admiration.

"Hermione," he said breathlessly, "you look amazing."

"Why thank you," she smiled, and then narrowed her eyes, "are you ok, Harry? You look like you've just been bitch-slapped."

"I...um," he said, his mouth suddenly drier than parchment. He looked helplessly at Draco who looked equally overwhelmed. Hermione's eyes flicked between them.

"What's going on?" she asked, and when Harry remained speechless, she turned her eyes to Draco. "Draco?" he seemed to regain some power of speech.

"Granger," he said, "there's something you should..." he trailed off at the look on Hermione's face.

"Did you just call me 'Granger'?" she asked, a slight catch in her throat. Harry felt Draco stir beside him with irritation at himself, obviously they had moved further than last name terms.

"Er...yeah," he choked, "sorry, I forgot."

"Forgot?" Hermione looked absolutely incredulous, "Draco, you haven't called me that since we left Hogwarts, and I haven't even been a Granger for three years!" she gave a short, mirthless laugh. "What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?"

__

Not a Granger?! Harry's thoughts were moving so fast that he was afraid his head might explode. What was going on? In the confused silence that followed Hermione's outburst, his eyes roved to her left hand. There were two rings on her fourth finger. Hermione was married.

"We need your help," Draco blurted out. "We're not who you think we are." Hermione was instantly wary, and Harry found his tongue again.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah. Something's happened to us. We're not the Harry and Malfoy that you know." Hermione narrowed her eyes again quizzically.

"Will one of you please tell me what is going on?" she asked, getting slowly to her feet, her tone colder. "Who are you then?" Harry and Draco looked at each other, wondering how to explain something they didn't fully understand themselves.

"We're from the past," Draco ventured. "At least, our minds are. We were making a divination potion in 1996 which was supposed to give us a look into our future. Unfortunately, we switched bodies instead, and ended up here."

"What?" Hermione looked stunned, "are you kidding?"

"Nope," Harry said quickly, "and we have no idea how to get back. I promise you, Hermione, we're the Harry and Malfoy from the past."

"Prove it," she said at once, "prove you're not just Death Eaters or something." Harry looked back at her blankly.

"How do you expect us to prove it?" he asked. "Other than displaying our ignorance of everything that has happened in the last eight years."

"So, you have no memory of the last eight years," Hermione stated with effort and both boys nodded. "Oh sweet Hecate," she sat down again. "that would explain your strange behaviour," she said.

"Sorry about that," Harry replied, going to sit next to her, "but we've only been here forty five minutes or so, and without a clue of how to get back."

"You don't know how to get back?" she asked quickly.

"No," Draco sighed, "no idea."

"I wonder why this happened," Hermione said, "this is so weird."

"Hello?" Draco pointed to himself and Harry, "bit of a culture shock for us as well."

"I know, I know," Hermione said, her eyebrows knitted. "Oh and by the way, Draco, you're my friend in 2004. So you might want to drop the coldness." Draco looked momentarily astonished before his face adopted an ashamed expression.

"Sorry," he said numbly and Hermione nodded.

"You weren't to know," she said. "So tell me. What exactly do you remember about the time you're from, so that I know how much you're aware of."

"Um...we're in sixth year," Harry said, "Just about to start the series of Pertho Potions. I've just beaten Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and Ron has just found out about Bill's promotion in Egypt. That's about it really." Hermione looked thoughtful. Draco was prowling backwards and forwards along the floor, looking at it darkly.

"And what about you two?" Hermione asked, "How do you two get along?" the question startled Draco into speech.

"We don't of course," he said, "Potter and I still despise each other, as always." Hermione looked as though she wanted to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked as a snicker of amusement escaped her.

"Oh nothing," she said, calming herself, "I was just wondering what you thought when you realised you share a flat in your future." There was a very unpleasant silence.

"We thought it was a ramification of the potion going wrong," Harry said slowly. "We thought one of us had just got caught in the other's future."

"Are you telling me we actually share this flat?" Draco had gone very white and halted his pacing.  
"Yes," Hermione nodded, "you do."

"Fucking fantastic," Draco said, "I'm roommates with a Gryffindor." There was another silence in which Hermione didn't look at either of them.

"You're not roommates," she said in a barely audible voice. "You're lovers."


	2. Work is the Curse of the Drinking Class

__

Chapter 2: Work, the Curse of the Drinking Class

~*~

Playing for the high one, dicing with the devil

Going with the flow, it's all a game to me

Seven or eleven, snake eyes watchin' you

Double up or quit, double stakes or split

Ace of Spades - Motorhead

~*~

No matter how many years passed since that day. Harry would always find the memory of it perfectly clear in his mind. He would be able to replay it with remarkable ease, pinpointing the exact moment when he thought his heart had ceased to beat in his chest.

After Hermione's revelation the two boys stared at each other with similar expressions of alarm and disbelief. She sat, looking between them with a nervous expression, and another thundering silence enveloped them, ringing painfully loudly in Harry's ears.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco asked in a voice that suggested only a thin scrap of control.

"You're lovers," Hermione repeated. "You have been for two years." Harry felt light-headed,

"I don't believe you," he said, "no way would that _ever_ happen."

"Oh really?" Hermione asked and got up. She walked over to the shelves against the wall and plucked from it a picture that had been half hidden behind a white vase of lilies. It was a wizarding photograph of Harry and Draco. They were standing, locked in an embrace, their arms tangled round each other and their lips brushing. It was quite a recent photo, judging by their appearances, and left them in little doubt that what Hermione was saying was true.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Draco said suddenly, and he did look faintly green.

"So you mean, when we woke up in the same bed earlier..." Harry said, letting the question hang unfinished. Hermione grinned at him wickedly.

"You had probably just been having some hot, gratuitous sex," she said, and Harry felt his insides squirm most unpleasantly. Draco looked utterly disturbed, and sat down heavily on the other sofa.

"Oh God," he said, "this can't be happening." He held his head in his hands, and Harry knew he was wishing he could wake up and make it all a horrible dream.

"We have _got_ to get back to our own time," Harry said emphatically, "I think I'm scarred for life."

"I think you should look for a way to return as quickly as possible," Hermione said, suddenly businesslike, "and I don't think you should tell anyone else about you being here, not until you know for sure why you came."

"We told you," Harry said in a strained voice, "the potion we made went wrong, nothing more complicated than that."

"Maybe," Hermione said, "it might be completely innocent but you can't rule out at this stage the possibility of a sabotage."  
"By whom?" Harry asked, glancing over at Draco who was lying prone on the sofa, muttering to himself.

"Voldemort," Hermione said, "just think, Harry. You're a sixteen year old in the body of a wanted adult. You have only rudimentary knowledge compared to your future self, and you are both incredibly vulnerable right now. Especially to Death Eater attacks."

"I wouldn't be," Draco said from the corner.

"Actually," Hermione replied, "you would." Draco looked up with a start.

"Why?" he asked. "I'm the son of a Death Eater- _oh shut up, Potter_ -why would I be in danger?"

Hermione looked at him with a sympathetic expression.

"You renounced the Dark Side years ago," she said kindly, "and you declared open support for Dumbledore and you joined the Order of the Phoenix. You have been helping our side, ever since you got together with Harry. You're a marked man as well, Draco." Draco seemed to have been rendered speechless.

"Oh crap," he said, "What the hell have I become?"

"Someone with a lot more respect than you would have been if you had stayed on the path you were treading," Hermione said sternly. "You made the right choice, Draco, and you have been invaluable to us." Draco felt his ears go pink.

"Praise from Granger," he said, "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Draco," Hermione said with a sigh, "I told you. Don't call me that, I'm not a Granger any more."

"What are you?" Harry asked, "Who did you marry?"

"Tell me it wasn't Weasley," Draco said with a smirk.

"No actually," Hermione replied and then blushed, "I married a muggle. His name is Sean Peterson."

"You married a muggle?" Harry looked surprised. Draco made pointed vomit motions.

"I had almost forgotten what a prat you used to be," she said to him and he desisted, looking murderous.

"What else has changed?" Harry asked. "Tell us about our lives," despite himself, Draco sat down, listening intently.

"Well..." Hermione said, "I don't know where to begin. You two have been together for two years, although in your seventh year you did have a couple of secret assignations that you only confessed to after leaving Hogwarts." Draco groaned. "You, Draco," Hermione went on, "went abroad after we finished school, and you travelled the world, studying dragons and getting attacked by some hybrid skrewts that escaped from Hagrid and swam the channel."

"I did?" Draco asked, "I always wanted to travel."

"Yes. You came back to England about two and a half years ago and then you and Harry met again," Hermione replied.

"What happened?" Harry asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Well let's just say it was lust at first sight," Hermione smiled. "I've never seen anything like it." Harry was making a point of not looking at Draco, whose expression he could clearly imagine, "You got back together not long after," she continued, "and you bought this place a year ago."

"Where are we?" Draco asked curiously.

"We live in Manchester," Hermione said, "on the border of the Wizarding Quarter. That's why you can have a TV without it going schizo because of the magic. I live a couple of streets away."

"What about Ron?" Harry asked eagerly, "and everyone else from Hogwarts?"

"We still keep in touch with Ron," Hermione said, "he's been engaged to Lavender Brown for over a year, and they live on the very edge of the city. Unfortunately Ron and you," she pointed to Draco, "still don't get on very well." Draco nodded in a satisfied fashion.

"Long engagements give people the opportunity of finding out each other's character before marriage, which is never advisable," he said haughtily, the trace of a smirk crossing his face.

"Nice to know some things never change," said Harry.

"Neville's running for Minister for Magic-" Hermione said with a smile.

"Neville?" Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah."

"Neville _Longbottom_?!" Harry couldn't believe his ears. The Neville Longbottom he knew was a round faced, forgetful boy who made a habit of melting his cauldrons and losing his toad.  
"Ha! Longbottom as Minister for Magic!" Draco guffawed, the thought amusing him greatly.  
"Don't judge," Hermione said sternly, perceiving his amusement, "he graduated with top grade NEWTS."

Harry was impressed, "you're kidding, well good for him."

"Dumbledore died the year before last," Hermione went on, picking out scraps of information that would be particularly relevant to them, "Headmistress McGonagall took over his position."

"Dumbledore's dead?" Harry felt suddenly very cold, "How?"

"Old age," said Hermione sadly, "The one thing that no-one thought would ever kill him." Harry was quiet for a moment and Hermione rested her hand on top of his.

"Is the Order still working against Voldemort?" he asked after a while.

"Yes," she replied, with a frown, "he's in hiding abroad again. He was weakened in a battle with some Order members about eighteen months ago and he fled. His Death Eaters are still active, though, and Voldemort was by no means defeated." Harry nodded, Draco was examining his nails. "Anything else?" she asked.

"What kind of a couple do we make?" came Draco's voice, and both Harry and Hermione looked up, surprised.

"You what?" she asked.  
"You heard," Draco said. "What are we like as a couple?" h repeated. Hermione smiled at him.

"You're _very_ passionate- trust me, we've heard you keep us awake at night -and very argumentative. You don't seem to go more than a fortnight without falling out, but you are more devoted to each other than any couple I have ever seen. You do everything together and..." she broke off, looking at them both with a fond, if slightly sadistic grin, "you fuck like bunnies." Harry let out a strangled cough and Draco sank lower into the sofa.

"Thanks for that mental image," he said,  
"You asked," Hermione replied smugly.

"Now _I_ feel sick," said Harry, leaning back and closing his eyes, "and I'd only just come to terms with all this time travel shit."

"That reminds me," Draco murmured, "how are we going to get home?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, "I can always look in my library, and see if anything turns up."

"You have a library?" Harry stifled a laugh.

"Of course," Hermione looked at him as if this was the most natural thing in the world, "did you ever doubt I would?"

"No," admitted Harry, "but what do you propose we do in the meantime?" Hermione laid one manicured hand on his lap.

"I suggest that you pretend to be Harry and Draco of this time," she said, "at least for the time being. Just keep up the deceit until I can find something that will send you home."

"Ok," Harry sighed, "Malfoy, do you agree?" Draco eyed him for a moment before nodding.

"I'll be good, Potter," he said, "but we had better find something quick, this is getting bizarre."

"I'll have a quick look in the library before dinner tonight," Hermione said, "and then you can come over on Thursday for a proper search if you like."

"What's happening for dinner tonight?" Harry asked.

"Oh right, you don't remember," said Hermione. "We're all going to dinner tonight at Le Petit Blanc. It's a restaurant near here which we are all very fond of."

"'We' being?" Draco asked.

"Oh. Sean and myself, you and Harry, Ron and Lavender, Ginny and Seamus. Sometimes the twins come as well. Their business in Diagon Alley is thriving but they don't get a lot of time off."  
"Great," said Draco, "I get to spend my evening with a bunch of sodding Gryffindors." Hermione gave him an odd, unreadable look before nudging his knee.

"We haven't been Gryffindors for eight years," she said softly, "Those years are just long distant memories to us." Draco looked suddenly downcast and Harry, too, felt the burden of their impending pretence. One slip of the tongue could let everyone know their secret, and then they would have a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people. Harry agreed with Hermione's advice for their identities to stay hidden, the fewer people who knew about their predicament the better, or their lives could be in danger from anyone with a grudge against the Boy-Who-Lived. From Harry's experience, that was many.

Hermione, meanwhile, picked up her pinstripe cloak and swung it around her shoulders, fastening it below her collarbone.

"I'd better go," she said, "I want to go home and get changed. I'll come and collect you around six. Wear something smart, and remember who you're supposed to be." Harry and Draco stood up as she turned to leave.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, and she kissed him on the cheek.

"You're welcome. See you later Draco," she went to kiss him too before remembering who he was. Giving a short laugh at the expression on his face she left, exuding a bright confidence that Harry had never seen in her before.

Harry and Draco were left with the stifling silence of their flat and the knowledge that had come into their possession. There was an air of embarrassment hanging over them like a shroud, and neither really knew what to say to break the deafening quiet.

"That was..." Harry trailed off.

"Enlightening?" Draco supplied.

"You could say that," Harry answered. "At least we know a bit more about what this world is like."

"I can't believe..." Draco began, "...we're...you know."

"Yeah."

"It just seems so weird," he went on, "and according to Gran- Hermione, we get together in our seventh year."

"I know," Harry didn't know how to react to this news, "it's...unnerving."

"I can't even imagine how that would come about," Draco seemed really shocked, "I mean, you're going out with the Weasley girl and I'm..."  
"Yes?" Harry prompted with interest, noticing a pale blush grace Draco's cheeks, "Who are you currently shagging?"

"My love life is none of your business, Potter," Draco spat.

"On the contrary," Harry said nastily, "I am your love life, or did you miss the part about us fucking like bunnies?" Draco turned around very slowly and gave him an icy look.

"I heard," he said, "and as much as I wish it couldn't be true, there seems to be nothing we can do about it."

"You think I'm enjoying this?" Harry asked, "I don't want to pretend to be your boyfriend either, and I have as little idea how this came about as you do."

"Our future is so fucked up," Draco said, wandering into the kitchen and prodding the muggle appliances suspiciously, "who the hell would have guessed I'd be living with you?"

"I don't have to listen to this," Harry snapped, storming out, "you're not the only one for whom this is an intensely unpleasant experience." He went back into the bedroom. There were clothes littered messily over the floor and Harry winced to imagine what shameless acts of passion had caused them to be hurled so haphazardly around. He took a better look around the bedroom, which he had neglected to do so earlier. It was a light, pleasant room, dominated by the large bed and expensive-looking silk sheets that were crumpled across it. There were two identical bedside tables with books, candles and wands piled over them, long, white muslin curtains swinging at the window and a large mirror hanging on one wall. It was all beautifully simple and stylish, and had the indefinable air of a place that was lived in and well loved. There were a couple of black and white muggle photographs on the wall depicting various aspects of city life, and when Harry looked over to the window he noticed a slender crystal vase with a dark red rose in it.

There were two built in wardrobes against one wall and Harry flung the left one open, judging which was his side from the side of the bed he had woken up in. It was full of some of the most beautiful clothes he had ever seen. There were casual t-shirts of every colour stacked up against each other, faded jeans, classic jeans, and dirty jeans all by Diesel, Armani or Ralph Lauren. There were also faultlessly tailored suits, a selection of designer shirts and a silver tray full of cufflinks, belts, necklaces and rings. On the other side of his wardrobe hung an array of long, flowing wizarding robes. There were fewer of these than muggle outfits, and Harry presumed that he worked closer to the muggle quarter than the wizarding one. Still, there were robes made of velvet, silk and linen, tied by delicate silver clasps and sewn by the esteemed Wizard Tailors 'Burben and Snickford.'

Letting out a sigh of bliss, Harry set about making himself even more good looking. He felt quite spoilt for choice as he beheld the vast number of clothes in his wardrobe, and didn't know quite what he wanted to wear. Hermione's advice to wear 'something smart' stuck in his mind, and he ended up pulling out a pale blue shirt and a pair of loose fitting, elegant dark grey trousers. The colours complemented each other perfectly and were light enough to effectively deepen Harry's tan, making him look even more arresting. Moving over to his bedside table, his fingers ran over a faded, brown leather cuff that looked well worn. Harry slipped it onto his wrist and noticed a small square of silver set into the leather itself. Engraved on that in a flowing script was written, '_For Harry. To remember this moment._' More than anything, Harry wished he could remember the moment that this had been given to him to commemorate. It must have been something of the utmost importance, and he felt again the longing to know more about the years they had skipped. He saw, also on the beside table, a pair of thick silver rings. Harry slipped them on his thumb and fourth finger of his right hand. They fit perfectly. Beholding himself in front of the mirror, Harry couldn't help but be pleased. He was glad that he had grown into such a person, even if his eyes were still too bold and his jaw too prominent. He could pass for handsome, even if he did say so himself.

Dressed and as prepared as he would ever be, Harry made his way back into the living room, where Draco still sat on the sofa, staring moodily into space. He was still wearing the clothes he had picked up off the floor earlier that afternoon, but they, like everything else, became him very well.

He looked up as Harry entered and Harry was gratified to see a flicker of distinct admiration in Draco's eyes.

"Well Potter," he said, slightly breathless, "let it never be said that you don't scrub up well." Harry's heart pounded a little at the compliment, and he couldn't stop his mouth quirking into a smile.

"You'd better get ready," he said at last, feeling Draco's eyes roving over him. "If your wardrobe is anything like mine, you're going to be in sartorial paradise." There was an unmistakeable glint of excitement in Draco's eyes and the blond grinned suddenly, and darted out of his seat. A few seconds later Harry heard a triumphant whoop and surmised that future Draco was as equally fashionable as he was.

Figuring it was going to be some time before Draco returned from the bedroom, Harry went nosing around the living room, taking a closer look and idly picking up pictures and books. He found a couple more photos of him and Draco, all similar, their arms around each other, either kissing or smiling. There was an intriguing, squat little statue that looked a bit like a house elf, and several plants clearly enchanted with the gift of longevity.

On the second to bottom shelf, Harry discovered a rack of muggle CD's and a CD player. Rifling through them he was glad to find that his taste in music hadn't differed much over the years. He still had classic discs such as Nirvana and the Chili Peppers, but accompanying those now were the Lost Prophets, Good Charlotte, Damien Rice and someone called Audioslave. Picking the latter up curiously, Harry inspected the front before taking the CD out and putting it in the player. There were a few seconds silence before the music started and he listened intently. This band was good. Harry sat down on the sofa again to wait for Draco, and picked up a newspaper lying on the coffee table.

Ten minutes later he looked up and dropped the newspaper in surprise. Draco was ready and he looked breathtaking. Whereas Harry had chosen light colours to draw out the richness of his tan, Draco had done the opposite. He was clad in dark clothes that accentuated the delicate blend of his pale skin and made him look utterly striking.

"What do you think?" he asked and struck a ridiculous model pose. Harry was lost for words for a moment. Draco was wearing a pair of well-cut black trousers that hung off his hips as though he had been born in them. He was also wearing a black roll neck that clung to every muscle and sinew of his torso, giving a distinctly sylphlike impression. There was a black and silver watch around his wrist and a leather belt around his slim waist. He was holding a long, black leather jacket slung over one arm and Harry could tell that it would complete the picture to perfection.

He eyed Draco critically. "You'll do," he said with a half smile, and Draco glowered at him, but Harry could tell he was too elated to be anything but good natured.

"That is an amazing set of clothes," he said.

"I know," replied Harry, "our future selves have taste."

"And money,"

"I wonder where we got it from," Harry mused. "Do you think we have jobs?" Draco made a face.

"God, I hope not," he said, "can you see me working?"

"What were you planning to do with your life?" Harry asked.

"I told you," Draco said nonchalantly, "marry a blonde, Swedish model, raise some lovely Malfoy heirs and live off my father's money."

"So hard work all the way then?" Harry said. "good, good," then noticing something in the corner, "what the hell is that?" he asked. He walked over to a statue on a corner table. It was carved out of what looked like soap stone, and looked like a distorted figure of a human being.

"It's art, Potter," Draco drawled with his trademark smirk firmly in place. He looked more at home than Harry had seen him so far.

"That is not art," Harry said, "I bet you bought that."

Draco snickered. "Me? I'm the one with the taste!"

"You?"

There was a knock on the door that caused a halt to their bickering.

"Saved by the knock," Harry said, and made his way along the corridor. He opened the door, expecting Hermione but he was greeted by the sight of a blonde girl, grinning at him in a rather vapid manner.

"Er-"Harry was suddenly thrown, his heart starting to beat painfully hard in his chest, "can I help you with something?" he asked. He knew at once that this was the wrong thing to say as the girl's face darkened and she looked momentarily confused.

"Harry?" She waved her hand in front of his face, "it's me!" She was wearing a pink, floral dress with a white cardigan over the top. Her hair was tied neatly behind her head and she was wearing an alarming amount of blusher and coral lipstick.  
"Oh..." Harry tried to feign realization, "hi," he had absolutely no idea who the girl was.

"Well?" she said, obviously expecting something.

"Do you... d'you want to come in?" Harry asked, hoping this would be the right thing to say. It evidently was as she beamed at him and strode through. The way she effortlessly navigated to the living room convinced him that she had been there before and was someone from his past that he should know.

He followed the girl inside and watched with some amusement as Draco froze.

"Hello," he said neutrally.

"Draco!" The girl exclaimed, "how nice to see you again!" she swamped Draco in a warm hug and the Slytherin mouthed _'help me!'_ to Harry who was sniggering softly.

"Would you like a drink?" Harry asked.

"Oh no, I can't stay," The girl said, releasing Draco, who looked immensely relieved, "I just popped round to ask if you two are going to Mrs Johnson's coffee morning next week." Draco blanched.

"Er..." he stammered.

"I'll just check the calendar," Harry said, and quickly disappeared into the kitchen. Scanning the calendar he couldn't see any sign of a coffee morning planned,

"No, I don't think so," he said, "sorry."

"Oh. Never mind," the girl replied, apparently making herself at home. "So," she said, "how was your holiday?"

"Great," Draco said smoothly, a host of lies already at the tip of his tongue. If there was one thing he was an expert at, it was deceit, "really warm and sunny."

"It was?" she gave a little titter. "I thought you went to Norway?" Draco gaped at her and Harry was about to burst out laughing when someone else knocked on the door.

"I'll get it!" he said at once, and hurried to open the door. It was Hermione.

"Thank God," he said, "there's someone here and we have no idea who she is." Hermione let out an amused snort before moving into the living room.

"Hermione," the girl's grin visibly faded.

"Hello Kate," said Hermione haughtily, "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to steal these two gorgeous men away from you, we have dinner plans." Kate looked a little affronted, and seemed to try to straighten her posture in the face of Hermione's perfect etiquette and aura of sophistication.

"Oh," she said, "I was just inviting them round to Mrs Johnson's next week."

"How lovely," Hermione said insincerely, before turning to Harry, "we really should get going," she said, "we don't want to be late." Her manner indicated clearly that the little tête-à-tête between Kate and Harry was over.

"I'll see myself out then, shall I?" Kate said.

"Yeah," Draco sounded too relieved to be strictly polite, "nice seeing you again." Hermione bid goodbye to her and the blonde girl made her way to the front door. When she was gone and out of earshot Harry sank down on the sofa next to Draco with a huge sigh.

"Oh God," he said, "that could have been nasty." Hermione looked like she was going to burst out laughing,

"Well done, I must say," she said, "I assume you improvised remarkably well considering she wasn't looking at you like a couple of delinquents."

"Who was she?" Draco asked despairingly.

"She's called Kate McGee, and she lives with her husband Terry in the flat below you," Hermione explained. "Lovely couple, you've slept with both of them," she grinned at Harry who choked and Draco burst out laughing. "She's always inviting you guys to some insipid gathering. I think she has a bit of a crush on you, Draco." Hermione went on. Harry snorted and Draco looked quite appalled, and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Great," he said, "she seems... nice."

"Never leave us like that again, Hermione!" Harry said, "I felt like such a prat, not knowing who the hell she was."

"Sorry," Hermione apologised, "I should have been more explicit about your lives here. You guys are quite popular, I'm afraid. I think it's the whole gay thing, you have every woman within a five mile radius after you."  
"Don't say stuff like that," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. "Do you have to refer to us being gay?"

"You're just going to have to get used to the idea," Hermione said. "Face it, you two are in love," Draco groaned pitifully, "and you had better act like it at dinner."  
"Do we have to go?" Harry asked hopefully, even though a tiny part of him was eager to see what his other friends looked like after eight years.

"Yes," Hermione said briskly, "you do. It's been a long time since we were all together and the others will never forgive you otherwise."

"When you say act like it...?" Draco said warily.

"I mean act like you're a couple," said Hermione, "you know, kissing and holding hands and stuff. You, Draco, are infamous for trying to grope Harry under the table without anyone noticing." Draco suddenly flushed a brilliant red at Hermione's words and looked as though he wished the earth would yawn and swallow him whole.

"For the love of Merlin, please don't do that tonight," Harry said, sniggering, and Draco shot him a glare.

"You can hardly talk, Harry," Hermione said with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes, "I walked in on you giving Draco a blow job in a changing room once." Now it was Harry's turn to blush and as Draco was laughing at him, he sank his head into his hands, hiding the colouration of his cheeks.

"Wonderful," he said sarcastically, "just wonderful."

"We'd better go," Hermione said, looking at the time, "It's only a five minute walk from here. Do you like my outfit?" in all the confusion, Harry hadn't paid any attention to what Hermione was wearing. He noticed it now, though, and saw Draco looking at her with equal admiration.

"You look great," he said honestly, and Hermione beamed. She was wearing a low cut top of black silk, with a diamond nestling in her collarbone, and black trousers with heeled boots underneath. Her hair was swept up atop her head and clasped there and she was wearing make up that made her look perfectly flawless, and yet natural all the same.

She led them out of their flat, locking the door with her wand.

"Do the people in this building know we're wizards?" Harry asked.

"No," said Hermione quickly, "and they mustn't find out. Wizard-Muggle relations are at an all time low at the moment, and it's just easier to let them think you are two relatively normal guys."

Harry had never seen the outside of the flat. He and Draco were standing in a small room where there was a lift in front of him.

"What's that?" asked Draco, who had never used a lift in his life.

"You'll see," said Hermione, "it's a muggle contraption that saves people having to use the stairs."

"Really?" Draco looked excited. The lift clanked into operation and the stainless steel doors slid open smoothly. "Cool," he said.

Inside was a mirror, and Harry found himself tidying up his hair and perfecting his reflection with practised fingers. Draco was looking curiously at the row of illuminated buttons. Hermione pressed the lowest one, and he gave a start as the lift began to move downwards.

"What the hell?" he stuttered, grabbing Harry's arm automatically.

"You'll get used to it," Harry said, "they're everywhere."

The lift took them to a light, airy hall with full length glass windows and intricately shaped plants sitting in pots by the doors. Harry looked around with interest, this place was incredibly modern and expensive-looking. Hermione's heels clacked on the parquet flooring and the glass front doors slid open to reveal Manchester by evening. It was quite busy, with people bustling through the streets, their arms laden with shopping bags, taxis and cars battling to make it through the afternoon rush, and large, attractive buildings soaring from the mass of grey to perch in the sky.

The sun had streaked the clouds a dusky gold. It was setting behind the skyscrapers, forging giant silhouettes that towered over the people and cast their long shadows over a thousand upturned faces. The city was beautiful, and Harry could see why he would love it, he had never felt more alive in his life. Draco, too, was looking around with approval.

"I never thought of myself here," he said, "how things must have changed."  
"Now," Hermione said, "the others will already be at the restaurant when we arrive. There are some further things you should know if you don't want to make complete pricks out of yourselves." Harry and Draco nodded, looking faintly anxious. "Ron has been ill recently, and spent a few days at St. Mungo's. He's ok," she added quickly, "but don't get confused if that topic arises. Seamus' father died last week so the subject of family is a dangerous one, and Lavender is as big an air head as when you knew her, Harry, so don't enter into any philosophical discussions."

"Why's Ron with her, then?" Harry asked, taking advantage of Hermione pausing for breath. She looked mildly disapproving of her friend's choice, demonstrated by the derogatory way in which her lips twisted.

"He says she has hidden depths," she replied, as though convinced that was all bullshit. "Don't ask me where they're hiding exactly. I never knew what he saw in her until I watched her eat an ice-cream once...and then I realised exactly what it was Ron liked about her." Hermione shuddered at what was obviously an enlightening memory.

"Anything else?" Draco asked.

"Oh yes. Sean knows all about the magical world so don't feel like you have to hide anything from him," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling once more. "There's a lot of history, though, between Ginny and Seamus, so if they sometimes snipe at each other, that's the reason. They were together for about a year and had a bit of a messy break up."

Harry nodded. "I could always picture them together," he said.

"Give me strength," Draco muttered.

"Don't forget," Hermione warned, "they all think you're together. Please make an effort, no matter how much it sickens you. Remember, it's in your own interest to play along, the Death Eater factions would love to get their hands on you both and neither of you can be too careful about where you go. So please, just compromise your dignity for tonight and then we can get round to finding you a way of returning to your own time." there was a noted silence as both Harry and Draco steeled themselves for what was undoubtedly going to be a new and disgusting experience.

"Sure," Harry said unconvincingly.

"Whatever you say," Draco muttered, not looking directly at either of them.

Within the space of a few short minutes that seemed to last a lifetime, they had crossed numerous roads, and followed the line of the buildings until they came to a secluded park.

"This way," Hermione said, leading them around the corner into a cobbled square filled with old, impressive buildings. A fountain shot glittering jets of water from a hole in the ground, lit from beneath by a silver glow. The sign, 'Le Petit Blanc' was hanging, half-covered by ivy, over the entrance to a chic-looking restaurant furnished entirely in blue and silver.

"Nice," said Harry.

"Isn't it?" Hermione said, walking over to the attendant. "Weasley party," she said and he smiled at her, checking something in his register. "You might want to...um..." she said, looking at them, "look like a couple or something." She gave them an apologetic look.

Rolling his eyes and looking severely pained, Draco slung one arm casually around Harry's waist. The motion took him by surprise, and he couldn't suppress a tingle of excitement at feeling Draco's arm around him again. It had been a long time since someone had touched him like that. Like a lover. Gritting his teeth, Harry moved one of his hands to rest lightly at the small of Draco's back, wondering if his touch had the same effect on Draco as the latter's had had on him.

"Perfect," Hermione said, surveying them critically, and they allowed the waiter to lead them over to their table. It was large and round, and one of the more prominent tables in the room. Harry surmised that they must have been one of their regular customers to be treated with such importance. From the table, which was lit by the flickering glow of three or four candles, several people turned and smiled at them.

Harry's heart was pounding heavily in his breast. They were his friends, and yet they looked so different, eight years had passed and now they were all grown, all adults. 

Harry suddenly felt very young. 

His eyes roamed interestedly over the table's occupants. There was a man he didn't know sitting nearest them whom Harry supposed was Sean, Hermione's husband. Next to him was sitting Ginny, beside her brother who was waving at Harry jovially. Lavender Brown was next to him, and on her left was Seamus. There were then three empty blue chairs waiting for Harry, Draco and Hermione.

"Hi everyone," Harry said, unable to keep the tremor of uncertainty out of his voice.

"Where have you guys been?" Ron asked, his voice now a deep baritone. "Not another lovers' tiff I hope?" He was well over six feet tall now, Harry guessed, even though he was sitting down. His hair was as violently red as ever, but longer, so that it stuck up from his head like a shock of brilliant flame. His face had definitely changed, and was now thinner, but still round and freckly, with the same wide grin and button nose.

Harry and Draco exchanged looks at his words. What were they supposed to say?

"Leave them alone, Ron, they just got here," Ginny swatted her brother on the arm.

"I love how you sound so hopeful when you ask if we've been fighting," Draco quipped, and they smiled appreciatively. Draco was glad to see Ron's ears tingeing pink at his words. The pair sat down and greeted the others, each inwardly marvelling at the changes which eight years could wreak. They were all so different, Harry could scarcely breathe, he was so overwhelmed.

"You guys are late," Seamus said, in an Irish voice free of accusation, and yet laced with a certain amusement that Harry knew he had heard before. He studied the blond thoughtfully. Seamus had once been full of a natural exuberance that had shone from his face and infected all those around him. He looked as though he had gone to seed slightly, his sandy hair crowning chubby cheeks and an innate sadness that Harry couldn't help but perceive.

"Sorry," Hermione said, kissing Sean on the lips and sitting down next to him, "I had to fetch them, and Draco spent hours doing his hair." she grinned at Draco who scowled back.

"Nothing's changed, then," Ginny said happily, "we ordered you the usual." Harry hoped he liked whatever his 'usual' was.

"Great," he said, feeling a little disconcerted, "thanks." 

"What's wrong with my hair?" Draco said suddenly, twisting a platinum lock around his fingers. Ginny laughed,

"Nothing, darling, that's the point," she said, and took a sip of white wine. Harry noticed two bottles on the table, and poured himself a generous helping of red wine, feeling as though he was going to need it before the night was out.

"Hey, check this out," Sean was saying, leaning over Hermione and showing something to Harry and Draco. Harry took it, and found that he was holding a slim, silver mobile phone. He had never owned one himself, the Dursleys feeling that most modern conveniences were too good for him, and he looked at this one with fascination. The phones from their time, what Harry had seen of them, were all large and cumbersome, but this one was sleek and discreet. He supposed that technology had come along in leaps and bounds. He showed it to Draco who looked bewildered.

"He's _so_ impressed by that," Lavender said in a high-pitched, girlish voice.

"I know it may not look like much to you," Sean said merrily, "but to _muggles_ this is highly remarkable."

"Can I see it?" Lavender asked, and Harry handed the phone across the table to where Lavender was sitting. He looked, then, at Sean, who was tracing light circles on the back of Hermione's hand and muttering something in her ear. He was not an imposing man, from what Harry could see, and his face was full of character rather than being strikingly handsome. The smile he had witnessed a few moments ago had broken across his features like the tide, warming Harry with a sense of the man's liveliness. He seemed someone inclined to quiet reflection, someone who would take the time to understand Hermione and love her for who she was. He was older than her by at least eight years, but Harry found himself liking Sean almost immediately, and heartily approved of his relationship with his best friend.

"Harry?" a soft voice hissed into his ear, and Harry turned to find Draco's face pressed very close to his, so that their skin was brushing with a faint contact. "What the hell is that?" he asked, completely oblivious to all things muggle.

"It's a mobile phone," Harry answered, his breath ghosting over the side of Draco's face, "It's a device that muggles use to talk to each other over long distances."  
"Really?" Draco looked surprised, and not a little impressed. "Wow."

"You're so easily pleased," Harry commented, taking a sip of wine, and pouring Draco a glass.

"I must be if I'm dating you," Draco replied good naturedly.

"Touché," Harry grinned.

"What are you two whispering about?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowed playfully.

Ron looked up and saw them with their faces pressed together. Groaning, he said, "Oh please, no sweet nothings at the dinner table!"  
"You can talk!" Hermione laughed, "You and Lavender hardly ever manage to tear yourselves apart."

"Yeah, but..." Ron stammered, seemingly unable to muster an argument.

"Come on, Ron," Sean said pleadingly, "lighten up. Hey, look what this can do." He held the phone up to show Harry, who was surprised to see a moving image in the screen. Sean pressed 'capture' and a picture of Hermione materialised before his eyes.

"Did you just take a picture with that?" he asked, impressed.

"Yeah!" Sean's excitement was contagious, "It's the latest model. Phones that you can take photographs with."

"That is _cool_," Harry said, unable to smother his admiration. Hermione gave him a warm smile and a wink.

"Thanks," Sean said, before turning the phone to face Harry and Draco, "come on then, a picture of you two to complete my Hermione-filled gallery?" Harry looked at Draco, whose face remained utterly impassive.

"Ok," he said.

"Get together," Sean motioned for them to move closer together, "and a big wet kiss, please." Harry's heart jolted unpleasantly in his chest. He cast a discreet, fearful look at Hermione who had suddenly got a little paler, her grin fading. 

Draco turned his head slightly, conveying a silent dismay to Harry who received his message loud and clear, if only by the sudden tensing of the blond's shoulders. He couldn't. He didn't want to. This was disgusting. And yet, if they didn't, the others would surely think there was something amiss.

Draco moved back in his chair, seemingly resigned to what was promising to be a traumatic experience, and pulled Harry closer, his body pressed against him, his breath feathering over his lip.

"Oh, spare us!" Ron said, but the others were all smiling expectantly, and Sean was waiting to take the picture.

Time seemed to freeze.

Harry glanced helplessly at Draco's lips, which were full and a soft pink. For the second time he noticed that Draco had the comforting smell of smoke about him, and a faint hint of coffee, as haughty and arrogant as he was.

Draco's grey eyes dropped to rest on Harry's mouth, and, without knowing what he was doing, Harry slipped one hand to graze the side of Draco's cheek, feeling the blond shiver lightly under his touch.

He moved his head closer, and then their lips were brushing in the softest, most perfect kiss he had ever known. The faces around them blurred into the welcoming flicker of the candlelight, and the world melted until it encompassed just the two of them, their lips moving lightly over the each other's in an act of worship so intense that it made Harry's breath quicken in his chest.

There was the sound of a picture being taken. And it was over. Pulling away at the same time, and far too soon in Harry's opinion, he and Draco sat back, exchanging a lingering look that was lost on no-one.

Harry felt so euphoric and grounded at the same time that he thought he might explode. There was something fundamentally wrong about what he had just done, and even though he knew that, and he knew he shouldn't be kissing his enemy, it felt so right. He supposed it was the influence that Draco had on this body. He certainly had enough influence to send pulses of delight to parts of Harry's anatomy to which he had no desire to draw attention. Silently cursing the attraction of his future self to Draco, Harry shifted slightly in his seat.

"Great picture," Sean was saying, and he lifted up the phone to show them. Harry and Draco looked as though they were in another world, so absorbed in each other did they seem. He had never seen a picture where he looked so raptly concentrated, or so removed from everything else around him.

"Yeah," Harry said breathlessly. Draco was silent, his face displaying an abstracted, slightly troubled expression, and Harry could guess exactly what he was feeling. The entire situation was inescapably bizarre, and not one that Harry thought he would be in. Their company around the table soon lapsed into another conversation, but both he and Draco remained quiet, just mulling things over in their minds, paying little attention to everyone else.

Before long the moustachioed waiter returned to the table, laden with plates.

"Boeuf Bourguignon?" He asked, his voice a snooty drawl. Ginny raised her hand, and the waiter placed her plate down. "Two orders of the salmon?"

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry ended up with a plate of chicken fricassee, which, to his great relief, tasted delicious. Whilst he and Draco had been reluctant to talk for fear of saying something amiss, there was employment for all with the arrival of the food.

"I never get tired of the food here," Ron said appreciatively, showing a little too much pleasure in his meal that was strictly appropriate. "I love nouvelle cuisine."

"Nouvelle cuisine, roughly translated, just means I can't believe I spent eighty galleons and I'm still hungry," Draco said scathingly, and everyone laughed.

As they were all eating and talking, Harry was granted an opportunity to study the dynamics of the group. Hermione had been accurate when she predicted some tension between Ginny and Seamus, the two apparently having a somewhat substantial history. Seamus, who appeared naturally raucous, was growing more and pink cheeked with each glass of Pauillac, and his jokes became increasingly tasteless and politically incorrect. The other members of the group merely smiled indulgently at Seamus' antics, but Ginny kept looking over at him reproachfully, which only served to make him more determined to remain the centre of attention.

Draco was looking at him with clear distaste, and Harry had to nudge his knee and remind him that his expression of disdain was unlikely to go down well. Unfortunately, he could tell that Draco was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the company of so many people that he had hitherto despised. Nevertheless, he seemed to be getting on very well with Hermione, and the two of them were laughing and talking as though they had been friends for years. Some buried respect for her seemed to have risen to Draco's mind, and quite a change was wrought over him.

Hermione and Sean appeared a well suited couple. It was clear by the starry glaze of his eyes that he was devoted to her, and under his gentle encouragement, Hermione seemed to come even further out of her shell, and truly blossom among their company. She was vibrant, witty and a pleasure to be around. There was an element of co-dependency in her relationship with Sean, which Harry couldn't fail to notice. She would occasionally turn to him for silent support, or he would place his hand on her arm, and instantly her spirits would revive again. Harry could only imagine the imprint they would leave on the world, and the laughter and joy they would leave in their wake.

The other couple at the table, Lavender and Ron, were less suited than they might have been. If Hermione hadn't professed the great affection between them, Harry would not have guessed there were any signs of peculiar regard. Lavender was certainly very pretty now, with her long blonde hair and petite frame, but there was something weak about her smile, and an degree of banality in her speech. However, Harry found her easy enough to get along with, and trusted Ron's romantic judgement implicitly. As further quantities of wine were imbibed, Ron seemed to grow a little more sure of his role as fiancé, placing a possessive hand on Lavender's knee when she was talking to Seamus, and whispering in her ear.

"You're being very quiet this evening," Ginny commented, a concerned glint in her clear eyes. It was true. Neither Harry nor Draco had said much for fear of cocking up and saying something stupid. So far they had managed fairly well, but Harry's insides clenched with nervousness every time a question had been directed his way. Hermione had been a lifesaver. Anticipating their uncertainty, she had answered many questions for them, and led them into conversations which they felt capable of holding their own. Discussion of current events was out of the question, of course, but subjects like Quidditch tactics, for example, were easy to converse over.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. It had been a very long day, "I'm just really tired."

"Draco keeping you up again?" Ginny asked and Harry smiled embarrassedly. Draco looked up at the sound of his name, and turned faintly pink as he guessed the subject of their conversation. Ginny smoothed down her emerald silk green top and fixed Harry with a worried look. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asked quietly, aware of Seamus' beady eyes upon them.

"Why do you ask that?" Harry asked, stiffening automatically.

"I don't know," Ginny replied, "you just seem…distracted." Harry nodded, not really knowing what to say to that. He was very distracted, trying to follow the threads of every conversation at once, gleaning as much as he could about their collective lives.

He was saved from answering by the arrival of the waiter and their desserts. Lavender was giggling like a schoolgirl as she and Ron fed each other spoonfuls of sorbet, and a heavy sense of lethargy fell across Harry's bones. It might have been the combined effect of so much good food and wine, but he felt a little more relaxed, and at ease with their predicament. Draco, who had just ordered an Irish coffee, was sipping at it thoughtfully, his eyes smouldering against the candle light.

"How can you drink that?" Harry asked in distaste, looking at the cup.

"I'll have you know that Irish coffee is the only beverage to contain all of the major food groups," Draco said with a wry smile, "sugar, alcohol, caffeine and fat."

"How foolish of me," Harry held his hand apologetically to his chest.

"I'm sure I'll regret this in the morning," Draco said suddenly, leaning close to Harry's ear, "but the Gryffindors have shaped up ok."

"I know," Harry said, "I never really pictured them after Hogwarts. This wasn't really what I had in mind."

"I wonder what happened to put us here," Draco mused, a rush of colour tinting his cheeks from the wine. Harry was silent for a moment.

"We won't know until it happens for real," he said.

"If it happens for real," Draco replied, "_If_ we get home." He suddenly looked very disconsolate, and much more like the child Harry had known than he had looked all evening. A flash of vulnerability crossed his face in a flicker and Harry couldn't help sympathising with him. At least he knew these people. Draco had never spoken to half of them in his life.

"We'll get home," Harry reassured him, playing absent-mindedly with a sugar sachet, "I think someone will notice something's wrong when our past selves start kissing passionately in front of all our friends." Draco grinned and let out a feeble moan.

"That's not going to be fun to go back to," he said, "assuming our future minds are actually in our past bodies and not just floating around the astral plane." Harry threw down the sachet of sugar and sighed, thinking hard. The flickering of the candlelight cast a dancing, romantic air over the table, which was now much quieter than it had been earlier. Hermione and Sean were absorbed in each other, talking softly, their hands clasped under the table.

This was what Harry wanted. Someone he trusted without reservation. Someone he loved and who loved him back.

"Do you think we're like this?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Like what?" Draco asked, "Like them?" He motioned to where Ron and Lavender were talking to each other in contrived, simpering voices. "Not a chance," he said. "I'm really not the mushy type." He fiddled in his pocket, before withdrawing his hand clasped around a packet of cigarettes. "Yes!" he exclaimed, "Thank Hecate not everything changes." and he promptly lit up, taking a long drag, and filling his lungs with smoke. He rested his hand back on the table, where it was next to Harry's, touching it, and setting off a trail of fire along where their skin brushed. Harry saw Draco looking at their hands pensively, and something deep within him was dying to know what he was thinking.

"So whose house are we going back to, then?" Ginny asked from across the table, snapping everyone out of their reveries.

"We let you bastards trash our place last time," Hermione grumbled, "so count our place out."

"I think we'd better call it a night," Harry said, wanting to escape the possibility of making a prat out of himself. There was a rousing chorus from everyone else.

"You can't!" Ron said. "It's tradition, man."

"Yeah," said Sean, "don't think you can get out of having us all round, you know. I do think that it might be your turn."

"What?" Draco asked, a look of consternation on his face,

"Yeah," Seamus said in his Irish accent, "it's most definitely your turn to have us back for drinks."

"That's settled then," Lavender said, "shall we get the bill?"

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~*~

Thank you to everyone who reviewed:

Maxine-chan, Isis-mystic, JKH, passionwriterforlife, a-gothic-romance, Self-inflicted, Hybrid Liar, Starry Serpent, Bittersweet Symphony1 (how I love fangirls!), Sondy, Icklechuck, Kristen, Yukari, Trista, Michelle, eyes0nme19, hydrangea, karenelaine, moonstar_dust, Esmerelda Black, Dyann, Draco23Luver, boston, Ginalyle, Evil Story Penguins, Shadowfox20, boobala's blood clot, Cynnalia, Aine, LilyAnna Malfoy, SandiBebop, Lauren, Tsuyuno, Chibichan20, Avvy Kavvy, Purveyor of Darkness: Tyrini, Khrystyne, Laurel, Draculadeeda, Evil Sunshine, willow-nymph, Teaka, Stephanie, Angel-wings6, Benji's VIP, Slice, and my darling Mariel Yuy (who draws the best anime I have *ever* seen).

Trivium: Thanks for the review! I understand your qualms about this turning into _another_ romance-in-the-future!fics but I should probably say that this is going to be a predominantly romance-centred plotline, where the main story surrounds Harry and Draco's interaction. If you don't want to keep reading, that's fine, but I thought I should warn you just in case you really hate that kind of thing. Thanks for your interest.

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Jelly-bean5: Thank you for reviewing, I so love to hear from you! I pondered on whether to include some long, detailed explanation about why Hermione doesn't remember any of this, but I settled on the simple thesis that history changed and didn't progress the way it was meant to, so due to one errant quantum leap, the potion got fucked up. I figured that H/D interaction would be more popular than long magical descriptions! I really hope you enjoy the rest of this story, it really means a lot to me that you checked it out.

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Gwen: Yay! I'm glad you like it! It's a bit of a transition from the dark and depressing shades of H/D that I so love to write, but I hope it will go down well. I'm really touched that you took the time to review this story as well, thank you.


	3. Amnesia Amongst Company

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Chapter 3: Amnesia Amongst Company

~*~

Yesterday was the first day of the rest of your life, and you messed it up again - Patrick Murray

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~*~  
I'm gonna keep catching that butterfly  
In that dream of mine  
I'm gonna keep catching that butterfly  
In that dream of mine  
  
In my lucid dreams  
In my lucid dreams

Catching That Butterfly - The Verve

~*~

Barely fifteen minutes later, the group was making its way back along the road Harry, Draco and Hermione had travelled earlier. Despite their best efforts, the former two had been unable to deter their friends from accompanying them home. From what they were made to understand, it was a rare occasion when any evening out ended with a parting at the restaurant. It had become a custom to return to one of their flats for drinks and further socializing, and Harry and Draco had the undesirable roles of hosts for the night.

The city looked quite different by night. During the day it was bathed in a cold sunshine, that illuminated the dust rising from the roads and lit the streets with a yellowy glare. At night, though, the only lights were harsh neon, and the brilliance of the streetlamps and their artificial glow. There were lots of people around, many drunk, some stoned, and a few both, and Harry counted twelve bars and nightclubs on the way back to their flat.

He and Draco had been careful to keep up pretences as they had walked back home with the others. As soon as they had left the restaurant, Ron and Lavender and Hermione and Sean had promptly begun holding hands, and even Ginny and Seamus were getting on better. So as not to arouse suspicion, Harry resumed his hold around Draco's waist, and walked closely next to him all the way home. For his part, Draco was a good actor, and perfected the art of turning his body slightly towards Harry, leaning into his shoulder and giving the impression of a great intimacy between them.

Luckily for them, the distance of their friends prevented any of them noticing the slightly awkward silence between the two, which was more difficult to overcome.

They arrived back at their flat by about eleven 'o' clock. Hermione was giggling at something Sean had said, and the group practically stumbled through the door and into the living room.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" Draco asked, moving into the kitchen where he had noticed a bottle of wine earlier.

"Please," Ginny called before slumping on the sofa with Hermione. Harry sat on the other side of her, weary of the night, and hoping the others wouldn't be staying too long.

"Music..." Ron was muttering, looking through the CD rack, "can't do anything without music." His fingers closed on a Turin Brakes album and he shoved it into the player eagerly.

Draco, slipping smoothly into his character of host, returned before long with a bottle of red wine and some glasses which he had found in a cupboard. Setting them on the glass coffee table, he realised that he had nothing to open the wine with.

"Sit down, Draco," Ginny said, motioning for him to take the seat beside Harry, "I'll fetch a corkscrew." Draco sat down, a little reluctantly, and prodded Harry, who was sitting with his eyes closed, awake.

"What?" Harry asked.

"How long is this going to last?" Draco hissed, "I'm not sure how long we can keep fooling them."

"I know," said Harry, "but I'm sure it won't be much longer." Draco sat back, unappeased, whilst Harry saw Ron's keen eyes trained upon them. It was a minute before Ron voiced whatever it was that was on his mind, though.

"Look," he said, with a slightly apologetic tone, "I know you think I love it when you do, but have you guys been fighting? You've seemed really…cold with each other all evening."

Harry's insides were squirming unpleasantly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling Draco shift uncomfortably next to him.

"You've just been distant," Ron said with a troubled expression, "like you do after you've had a row." Harry privately wondered how argumentative a pair they were, if everyone seemed so concerned about the state of their relationship.

"Don't be silly," said Harry at once, "of course we haven't."

"Well has something happened then?" Ron persisted, "only there is definitely something different about the way you two have been behaving towards each other. I mean usually you'd be all over each other after a night out like this, but you've hardly spoken two words."

"There's nothing wrong," Harry insisted, "is there Draco?"

"No," Draco replied immediately, "of course not." As if to confirm this, he slung one arm around Harry's neck and rested his head against him. It was a tentative gesture, but one that Harry welcomed, if only for the purpose of assuaging Ron's concerns.

Ron did not look convinced, but turned away after a moment to listen to something Lavender said.

"Are we really that obvious?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'd say so," said Draco.

"What should we do?" replied Harry, looking over to where Hermione and Sean were laughing together, their hands on each other's knees, stolen glances passing between them.

"I'm sure you can think of _something_," Draco said with a smirk replacing his frown. Harry was taken aback for a moment as he realised what Draco was suggesting. "I don't like this, Potter," Draco said honestly, with an edge of bitterness, "mainly because I don't like you. But I am more than keen to avoid yet further explanations and embarrassment."

Harry sighed, "I don't think Hermione really trusts anybody here," he said, "or she wouldn't be so reluctant about having us tell them who we really are."

"I, for one, am inclined to trust her instincts," Draco said quickly, "especially if it narrows down the chance of Death Eaters finding out about our now-feeble magical ability."

With an unpleasant sense of aversion, and well aware that Ron kept casting him anxious glances, Harry laid one hand hesitantly on Draco's thigh. The blond looked surprised for a fleeting moment, before responding flawlessly by nestling their faces together and running his tongue the length of Harry's jaw.

Draco was a great actor, with the acquired knack of making every action look spontaneous and enjoyable. His hand was tightening around Harry's shoulders, exerting a perfect pressure that made Harry's body respond of its own accord.

Harry became rigid with the sensations bombarding him from all directions. The indescribable, searing feeling of such intimacy was making him feel warm all over, and he was torn in two by conflicting emotions. 

His hand was moving of its own accord. It was trailing up Draco's torso, slowly massaging the young man's muscles, and feeling involuntary jolts of pleasure run through him beneath Harry's touch. His tongue was leaving Harry's throat and he was moving his mouth up to meet the Gryffindor's, both of them closing their eyes, enveloping themselves in darkness. There was a moment of sheer, blinding heat as their lips duelled in another torrid kiss that stole the breath from their lungs and all reason from their minds.

As they parted, they looked at each other.

"That might have done the trick," Harry gasped into a whisper. Draco half-smiled, his deep grey eyes soulful and fathomless. There was an explosive shout of laughter from the other end of the room which drew their attention. Seamus was pouring himself a third glass of wine and telling jokes to Lavender, Sean and Hermione ,who were all seated around him, listening intently.

"And then," he was saying, his words punctuated by laughter, "he goes, '_it was like that when I found it!'_" They exploded into bouts of furious giggles again, pink-cheeked with telltale glints in their eyes. Ginny and Ron were talking quietly in a corner, and Harry could guess the subject of their discourse by the dark looks Ron was throwing Seamus over Ginny's green silk shoulder. After a moment or two she moved into the kitchen, and Ron came to sit with Harry and Draco.

"Is she ok?" Harry asked, looking worriedly at Ginny's small frame leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. He had been pleasantly surprised to see the change in Ginny. The bright-eyed beauty of youth had changed into a defining elegance that gave her face a distinct loveliness, despite her stubborn freckles and flaming red hair.

"I think so," Ron said unconvincingly. "She's just a bit sensitive on the subject of Seamus. He's been blowing hot and cold all night, and she can't understand what it is he wants from her."

"I thought they'd broken up?" Harry said tentatively. Ron gave him an odd look that set immediate alarm bells ringing in Harry's ears.

"They have," he affirmed lightly, "but you know, with everything that happened two weeks ago, it's complicated." Harry hadn't a clue what Ron was going on about, and didn't want to display his ignorance.

"She'll be ok," he said, in a brave attempt at changing the subject to something less dangerous.

"I know," Ron said, looking away, "it's just, she's my sister, you know? And Seamus is my friend. It's just hard."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco had passed the entire evening with people he spent most of his time avoiding. If someone had told him that he would one day be shacked up with Harry Potter and wining and dining with Granger, the Weasleys, Finnigan, Brown and a muggle, he would have had them shipped off to St. Mungo's. As it was, he had had an alarmingly agreeable evening, and a newfound admiration for Hermione was slowly but surely making itself known within his mind.

Draco shuddered, what was coming over him? He couldn't deny that Hermione had changed, though. She had a new confidence, sophistication and poise that came with finding her definition within the world. The muggle wasn't too bad either. Draco still didn't understand the concept of mobile phones, but accepted that they were a widely used, fascinating device. He had spent a good ten minutes at the restaurant exploring the phone's various functions, growing more and more amazed by the lengths muggles had gone to in order to exist without magic.

Harry had been watching him with a slightly amused expression, the teasing reflection from the candle flickering in his jade eyes. They had come to an unspoken agreement to postpone all hostility towards each other until they managed to return to Hogwarts. At the restaurant, united by a common lack of knowledge, they had been stranded together, and Draco had found the experience vaguely exhilarating. Some part of his brain was still refusing to contemplate the matter of their kisses, unwilling to open the floodgates to a torrent of emotions he might be unable to stem. All he knew was that in a world where he had the mentality of a teenager, he was growing up way too fast, and there was nothing to believe in any more.

It hadn't been hard to put his arm around Harry and lick a blazing path along his chin. His skin had tasted slightly salty, and Draco's tongue had flicked over the angles and planes that made up that work of art that was Harry. His adult self was strong and imposing, with an air of great power and a sense of darkness that Draco was invariably drawn to. He had watched Harry interact with his friends, watched him laughing and talking, without he himself being excluded. For the first time in his life, Draco had felt truly accepted, and even loved. Weasley still eyed him circumspectly, but there was no hint of true mistrust in his manner.

Of course, there were still the thousand things he hated about Harry. He hated the way the Gryffindor was simulating possessiveness towards him, hated the way he inadvertently patronized him, how he automatically assumed his role with little difficulty. Draco felt disoriented and unsettled, merely by being in his own future, but if Harry felt either of those things then he hid it very well.

He hated the way Harry was now talking with Weasley, hated him for being in his future, hated him for never leaving him alone. Wherever Draco turned, there was Harry, and even eight years seemed insufficient to sunder them. Now, though, he needed him to get home, and he hated that too.

"I'm going to get a drink," he said, rather shortly, and pulled himself from the sofa and from Harry's hands. Stalking towards the kitchen he found Ginny still in there, sipping wine slowly, her blue eyes staring into melancholy space.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," he grunted in return, not feeling particularly talkative now that such a sullen mood had descended. He began opening various cupboards, looking for some suitable source of alcohol, with little luck.

"What are you looking for?" Ginny asked quizzically.

"Something to drink," said Draco, thinking hard, "I...er...can't remember where Pott-Harry put it." He was stammering and he knew it. Damn it, since when was talking so bloody difficult?

Ginny shot him a strange look before kneeling down and pulling a bottle of vodka out of a drawer.

"This do you?" she asked, handing it to him. Draco grabbed it eagerly and unscrewed the cap. Tipping some down his throat and wincing sharply, he said,

"Perfect." Ignoring Ginny, he made his way quietly out into the bedroom and lay on the bed. Further sips of vodka did wonders to numb his confusion and assuage the general panic that seemed to increase with each passing minute he spent here. 

The bed was nice and comfortable, and Draco was just drifting off to sleep when he remembered that this was the bed he shared with Harry. He and Harry had had sex - in this bed.

Getting off it as quickly as he could, Draco groaned with the realization and slumped in a chair instead. There were still sporadic shouts of laughter coming from the other room, and Draco could hear somebody turn the music up louder. The song 'Painkiller' drifted through the walls to meet his ears and he rubbed his eyes. All he wanted was a quiet life. Why did Harry always manage to fuck that up so spectacularly for him?

Draco lost count of the minutes that passed while he sat there. He could catch snatches of conversation from the next room, and from what he could glean, his 'friends' were becoming more and more intoxicated as the evening wore on.

He could feel his eyelids growing heavy, it had been one motherfucker of a day. The vodka bottle looked at him kindly, and it didn't register until some minutes later that bottles of spirits didn't have eyes, or the ability to look at him at all.

Draco smiled to himself, not really knowing quite why. All he knew was that the chair was comfortable, the room was dark, he was contentedly drunk and sleep was creeping over him like a warm tide.

Dawn couldn't have been too far off when Harry stumbled into the room and towards Draco. Poking him awake he said,

"Ginny, Sean and Hermione are staying the night."

"Good-oh," Draco replied, yawning sleepily. "Why are you telling me exactly?"

"Well," Harry didn't look sure, "it's your house too," he finished lamely.

"Thanks Potter," Draco said, "just what I wanted to be woken up for."

"You can't sleep there anyway," Harry said, "you'll have terrible backache in the morning. Look, you take the bed, I'll sleep..." he looked at a loss, and Draco was momentarily conciliated.

"No, you take it," he said, "I'll sleep on the sofa in the next room." He went to get up and found himself swaying more than usual. It must have been the alcohol, which also would seem to have prompted him to give up the bed in favour of _Potter._ Harry caught him as he looked as though he were about to fall and held his arm.

"You ok?" he asked worriedly. Draco shrugged him off, embarrassed.

"Fine," he said grumpily, and Harry nodded. He turned back to his bed and pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion. Something in Draco's mind told him that he should really leave _now_ but he stood, transfixed. The muscles of Harry's back rippled enticingly, in a way that made Draco want to touch them more than anything else in the world. The vodka dulling his senses was unable to shut out an overwhelming attraction to the only slightly blurry figure slowly undressing in front of him.

"Draco?" Harry had turned round and was looking at him curiously. "Are you going to watch me strip?" Draco was tempted to say yes, spank Harry silly and tell him to get on with it, but some rational part of his mind stopped him.

"You're ok, Potter, I'm not playing voyeur tonight," he said, and stumbled inelegantly from the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The sofa next door turned out to be remarkably comfortable. Draco found a sable fur throw behind it and tossed it over himself for warmth. Pulling off his black top, he went to sleep there, still half-clothed and perfectly irritable.

His dreams were strange. Twisted fragments of some long harboured memories writhed in front of his eyes and he felt his body flinching in reluctance to admit them. It was like reliving parts of his memories over and over again, memories that Draco had no recollection of, memories that his future self had, but he didn't.

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He was younger now, quite possibly in his seventh year at Hogwarts, and he was standing beneath the stands on the Quidditch pitch, watching absent-mindedly as Hufflepuff played Ravenclaw in the penultimate game of the year.

Some part of him wondered vaguely why he wasn't sitting with the rest of the Slytherins, when that question was answered for him in the form of someone breathing down the back of his neck. Draco's eyes closed in a moment of bliss and his skin prickled with the glorious sensation. He made to turn around but there were a pair of strong arms holding him in place, inhibiting any movement, and the hard lines of a boy's body pressed against his back.

"No. Don't turn around," it was Harry's voice, spoken softly into his ear. Draco quickly glanced around to make sure that none of the five-hundred or so spectators could see them from their vantage points. They were quite safe.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because I need to talk to you," said Harry, "and I can't do that if you're facing me." Draco narrowed his eyes questioningly.

"You're not making sense, Potter," he said, "but then, I wouldn't expect anything less."

"If you face me I'll be compelled to kiss you and then we'll never get anything done," Harry said honestly, and Draco felt his face heat up.

"What did you want to talk about?" a slight quiver tinted his voice.

"This morning," Draco felt his heart sink.

"I thought we'd sorted all this out," he said.

"No," Harry's voice was bitter, "you spoke and expected me to listen. Now it's my turn."

"Speak then," Draco said at once.

"You told me this morning that after Hogwarts things will never be the same again," came Harry's voice. "You told me that you were leaving the country, and you didn't even give me a word of explanation."

"What do you want from me?" he asked. "That is what I plan to do with my life, you have no place in it." the arms around him slackened slightly, but Draco found himself leaning into Harry's embrace instinctively. He could feel every hard etch of his body. He knew each hollow so well. Had kissed every inch.

"I don't want to take over your life," Harry said, "I have never asked you for anything like that."

"I don't want to hurt you," Draco heard himself say, "but I am resolute."

"And so you should be," Harry said, "but I know that deep in your soul, you do not want to never see me again."

"Of course I don't," Draco replied, "I'm just saying that after Hogwarts there will be a few years when I'll be travelling the world alone, and you'll be here, studying to be an Auror. Our lives are going in different directions, Potter, for a few years at least."

"And when you return?" Harry asked. "When I'm finished training?"

"Then circumstances will dictate," Draco replied firmly, "I don't know what will happen, whether I'll return and you'll be happily married, or whether I'll return and you'll be dead. Necrophilia never was my thing."

He felt Harry smile.

"If circumstances are favourable," he said, "will you still want me in the future?"

"I don't ever want to lose you completely." Draco said, an edge to his voice, "And my leaving the country for a while won't ensure that. In a few years, we might be able to pick up where we left off."  
"Do you want that?" Harry asked. "Do you want me?"

"Yes," Draco breathed, even though it cost him a great deal.

"I can't do that, Malfoy," Harry replied, and Draco stiffened automatically. "I can't sit around for five years and wait for you, on the off chance that you'll want to continue this." Draco was silent, his breath snatched. Harry tightened his hold around him again. "Which is why this will end when our time at Hogwarts does."

"You don't mean that," Draco said.

"Actually, I do," and Harry's voice sounded like it was about to shatter, "we'll come out of the next few years as different people, we don't have a hope of..." he trailed off. The fears he professed were the same as the ones nudging through to Draco's mind.

"You're right," he said heavily, "you're always right."

"Which is why this must be the last time," Harry said bitterly, and Draco turned suddenly to face him. Those emerald eyes had seen too much, were shadowed with pain and grief, but Draco held their steady gaze and ran his hands up Harry's muscled arms.

"The last time," he repeated and then thrust his mouth against Harry's with enough force to knock them both backwards and into the wooden panel of the supports that held up the stands. Their tongues battled furiously, and their kiss became a sequence of tasting, biting and coaxing to draw an intense pleasure that drowned out everything else.

Somewhere up above, there was an almighty cheer as the Ravenclaw seeker caught the snitch. The two seekers on the ground bit their way again into each other's mouths, and brought the past six months to a triumphant close.

The scene faded, and dissolved into a swirling mass of grey that stretched before Draco into every corner of space and time. New recollections were coming to him, so splintered and broken so that it was like listening to someone speak with a terrible stutter.

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The air was hot and muggy. It hung about him like some palpable force, weighing down the breeze and fogging Draco's mind with its sultriness. There were dark clouds scudding above him, heralding an almighty downpour. Rain was pattering softly on the broad leaves of the exotic plants that were surrounding him. He was in some kind of jungle or forest, where birds chattered ceaselessly and the heady scents of flowers made his mind swim. 

This was a paradise he had no memory of, but a strange stream of knowledge was steadily permeating Draco's slumbering mind. He suddenly knew the creatures he could hear. There were indris, their plaintive notes tumbling eerily, and haunting the hills with echoes of their song. There were coua birds, chorusing their ringing cries, and the gentle, plucked music of the vahina, the instruments of the villagers below.

Draco was in Madagascar.

Some part of him knew this, just as some part of him remembered this journey, but for now he was content just to watch, and to follow the steps he had once taken. The villagers were holding **famadihana**, and dancing with the bones of their dead, an archaic practice that was still held only in the more remote, secluded parts of the country.

He was being led somewhere, by a short, squat, native guide who turned back to smile toothlessly at Draco as they walked. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, the back of his neck sunburnt and raw, but Draco was blissfully happy. They were climbing steep rocks, the cooling rain splattering over his face. He tilted his chin towards the heavens and opened his mouth; big, fat droplets of water fell upon him and he tasted them as though they were the elixir of life itself.

The guide was motioning excitedly to a cave in the mountainside, and saying something in a tongue Draco's future self understood. 

"Marina ve?" Draco was asking, **is it true?** Here was what he had spent so long searching for. He could scarcely believe it.

The guide would continue no further, and was pestering Draco to do similar. Draco felt himself shake his head, and the guide sighed,

"Tena sahy ianao," he said. **You are brave.** The Malagasy was a beautiful language, that sounded like the speech of children, their voices lightened by laughter. The man looked frightened, and Draco felt himself hand over some coins before continuing alone. His guide scurried down the mountain to be with his family in the village, where the **ombiasy**, the medicine man, was handing out amulets shaped like zebus and coua-birds.

Draco made for that cave, which was as vast as a palace, dark shadows yawning within, creating a place of fear and legend. The villagers didn't come here. No-one did. The tales of it stalked through their dreams and nightmares, and the horror of it was so wrapped up in myth that it was impossible to distinguish the truth.

Draco walked on without fear.

When he had climbed to the mouth of the cave, he peered cautiously inside, his wand held rigid in his hand. He had prepared for this, had spent hours researching and hours training, just in case the worst should happen.

Inside the mountain, a huge, hulking shape opened one yellowy eye and regarded Draco with haughty disdain. It was a dragon. The largest he had ever seen, and most terrifying. Its head was crowned with a set of blood red, spiky scales that gave it a most regal air, and continued all the way along its slender neck. Its wings were folded at its side, leathery and skeletal, with thin, parchment-coloured webs of skin stretching over them. Its mouth opened slightly, revealing row upon row of jagged teeth that looked capable of tearing Draco apart where he stood.

He froze. Awed.

He had never seen one this big or this magnificent, and had been forced to travel to Madagascar just to get a glimpse of one. This was one of the rarest dragons in the world, and legend told of there only being three of them left. They were native to this part of the country, and nocturnal, as a rule, which was why Draco had been able to take advantage of the beast's sleepiness. He stood silently, just watching, whilst his heart pounded with the thrill of seeing something he had so longed for.

The villagers called it the 'Black Terror' and they refused to come anywhere near this cave for fear of the monster that dwelled within. They hadn't seen it in its true glory, even when it wheeled through the skies on a moonlit night, they were too afraid to look. They hid themselves and prayed for the morning to come, whenever they heard its distinctive call. The indris in the baobab trees would immediately silence, as this lord of the skies grazed the heavens and swept from its cave down to the world below.

And now it was suffering Draco's presence. And suddenly Draco wanted to be anywhere else so badly that he turned around and walked away, the dragon watching him, one lazy eye opened.

*~*~*~*~*~*

In the next room, Harry was having similar flashbacks to a life he couldn't recall living. His own dreams were equally as fragmented and broken as Draco's own, with nothing making any sense and with no impression of continuity in them at all. A scene arose in his mind, and began to unfold itself.

__

He was no more than nineteen, he couldn't be. A sick wave of fear was steadily washing over him, its icy fingers clawing into every part of his body, making his hands tremble and cold beads of perspiration seep over his brow.

He was taking unsteady steps along a darkened corridor, knowing what he was looking for, knowing that certain death lay behind one of these many doors. The corridor was magnificent in its opulence, with a crimson carpet trimmed with gold and with portraits of long-dead witches and wizards watching him with their ghostly eyes.

Harry wanted something, someone to help him. The rest of the Order were outside, battling the impenetrable wards that shrouded the manor from the outside world, from all but Harry. He had been summoned there, through no trick or artifice of anyone else, he had been summoned by his own sense of guilt and determination. He would go and fulfil the prophecy, either killing Voldemort where he stood or becoming his latest victim.

It was a stupid thing to do, really. Voldemort would kill him and the rest of the world would be open to his domination, with his very last threat wiped out in a flash of green. The manor had been surprisingly easy to gain entry into, when one considered the number of charms and enchantments that protected it from the rest of the Order. They had realised what Harry had gone to do and they had come to stop him. But only Harry had been able to get in.

Voldemort knew exactly what Harry intended to do, and Voldemort exulted in that knowledge.

Chanting. Harry's ears pricked up as the distinct sounds of chanting reached them, coming from one of the doors to his right. He clutched the sword of Gryffindor more tightly in his hand as he kicked open the first door. It swung wide to reveal and ancient, dusty room that hadn't been used in years.

Harry moved on. Kicking open the next door he felt all strength trickle from him as that same blast of cold fear swamped his body.

Voldemort wasn't there, but Harry was face to face with forty of his Death Eaters. Somehow, ironically, the injustice of this struck Harry harder than anything else. Voldemort didn't even deem him worthy to be killed by his own hand, he was defying the prophecy and disputing Harry's magical skill. Harry felt rather affronted by that.

"Mr. Potter," a sneering Death Eater grinned at him from behind his white mask. The voice was so familiar and yet elusively so, and a torrent of nostalgia was stirred in Harry's breast.

Oh God. This was Lucius Malfoy. Draco's father.

"I have come to parley with Voldemort," Harry said, in the strongest voice he could muster, "not his minion." The Death Eaters fanned out behind Lucius, wands raised, killing curses poised on their lips.

"He has business to attend to," Lucius said, "he asks if I, personally, would complete his task for him."

"You?"

"Me," Lucius fixed him with a strange look, "he is busy in the recruitment of new Death Eaters, and is confident that one of his newest finds will be very disappointed to hear if you injure his father."

Father?

"Voldemort has Draco," Harry said with a strange rasp to his voice.

"Draco has renounced the light and will soon be returning to us," Lucius said with an insane smile, "and he will take his place beside me."

"Liar!" Harry screamed, "So you think that I won't duel with you for fear of hurting Draco?" Lucius did not respond, but his twisted smile remained immovable on his face. "Draco wants you dead!" Harry yelled, "he'll fucking thank me!" and with those words he shot the killing curse at Lucius, who ducked just in time, and threw one of the lesser Death Eaters in front of him to catch the brunt of it.

"The Dark Lord will have you, Potter," Lucius said with enough venom to kill a hippogriff, "and I shall be the one to deliver you to him. First, I must teach you a lesson, though." He pointed his wand straight at Harry's chest, and Harry was too slow to dodge.

"Crucio!" The pain erupted through his body like the stabbing of a thousand white hot knives. His last thoughts were of Draco, and how he would never let Lucius get him.

Before the world faded to black.

The fuzzy greyness of his mind returned, and the same slivers of memory were swimming before his eyes. It wasn't long before another one opened itself to him.

__

Harry was drinking something out of a paper cup. Coffee. The smell always reminded him of something, but that something was too painful to contemplate. Hermione was sitting next to him, talking about something but Harry wasn't really listening, and just let her voice wash over him.

The park bench they were sitting on overlooked emerald green lawns just recovering from the last frosts of the winter. Harry could see his breath misting before his face and could feel his hands turning numb from the cold of the early spring morning. The coffee was wonderfully warming, and Harry rubbed his hands together to encourage circulation back into them. Hermione might have told him they were going outside when she came to call that morning. He had dressed insensibly for the weather, wearing a pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt, a black sweater and a beanie hat that at least did something to stop his ears freezing off.

"Are you even listening to me, Harry?" Hermione sounded faintly annoyed, and tossed her scarf over her shoulder again. Harry looked at it enviously. "Oh here," She said impatiently, taking it off and wrapping around his neck in a motherly fashion, "you never did wear enough clothes."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, taking another sip of his rapidly-cooling coffee and dumping it in a nearby bin, "what were you saying?"

"I was just saying that I think you need a change of pace," Hermione said, smoothing his hair down lovingly. "You've been really miserable these past few weeks, and crap company." Harry let out a short laugh.

"Thanks," he said,

"You know what I mean," Hermione sighed, "I just worry about you sometimes." Harry patted her hand gently,

"Don't," he said, "I'm fine, I promise."

Hermione suddenly became very interested in examining her fingernails, and she looked away from Harry, sheepishly.

"I actually have an ulterior motive for dragging you out here," she said, and Harry grinned,

"I didn't think it would be for the pleasures of my 'crap' company," he said. "Come on, spill." Hermione smiled weakly, with a distinct apprehension.

"I've heard from someone," she said evasively, "someone who wants to meet us."

"Who?" Harry was instantly curious.

"Well, um..." Hermione stopped, looking at someone over Harry's shoulder. Harry whirled around and his heart stopped beating.

Draco Malfoy was standing before him.

Bag slung casually over his shoulder and hands in his pockets, he looked the spitting image of the person Harry hadn't seen in five and a half years. He was older, though, and more developed, with a slight tan and the air of one who has seen a lot of the world in a very short time.

"Malfoy?" Harry said disbelievingly. Draco was smiling, somewhat hesitantly, at Harry's astonishment.

"Are you wearing a girl's scarf, Potter?" he asked suddenly and Harry burst out laughing. Getting to his feet he flung his arms around Draco's neck, taking the blond completely by surprise.

"I haven't seen you in five years and that's all you've got to say for yourself?" Harry asked, his mouth buried in Draco's shoulder. He felt strong arms close around him, and breath drift over his neck.

"I've missed you so much," Draco said, "you have no idea." Harry pulled back and they looked at each other for the briefest of moments, before Harry dived onto Draco's mouth and they kissed as though they'd just invented it. The air around him became tinged with the scent of their passion and the world crumbled into insignificance. All he could taste was Draco's mouth, all he could hear was Draco's rough breathing, and all he could feel were Draco's hands running expertly over his body as they hadn't done in five years.

Draco dropped light kisses on his lips and suddenly his was kissing every inch of Draco he could get his hands on. Those angular cheekbones tasted like honey under his mouth and the feeling of Draco's lips against his skin sent shivers down his spine.

It wasn't until Hermione pointedly cleared her throat did they tear themselves apart and fall back into the comforting embrace they had shared just minutes before. Harry's head sank onto Draco's shoulder and he felt the blond kissing his neck softly.

"It's a nice scarf, actually," he heard Draco say.

And Harry woke up. Panting hard, and completely disoriented, he tried to come to terms with where he was and why. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he remembered his bizarre dreams and the vividness of them. To his undying shame and horror he had a raging hard-on, and, muttering to himself, retreated blearily into the bathroom to deal with it in privacy.

The colour of the sky outside convinced him that it couldn't be much later than six am, and the flashing clock on the bedside confirmed that. Harry knew he wouldn't get any more sleep that night, and, sighing, sprawled himself across the bed, on returning from the bathroom. 

His mind was turning over the various scenes and images that had been revealed to it during sleep. They were images of his life, he was sure, of the life that he had yet to live, and something about their tantalising fleetingness made Harry hungry for more knowledge. 

He wanted to know how he had come to be in that mansion, being tortured by Lucius Malfoy whilst the rest of the Order tried to save him. It was probably the 'hero' complex Draco was so fond of referring to, and Harry had probably done it in an act of self-sacrifice to save his friends.

It couldn't have worked, though, considering he was still alive. Someone must have saved him, he doubted he could have escaped from so many Death Eaters on his own.

And the scene of his meeting with Draco after so many years; what had happened afterwards? How had Hermione known that Draco would be there, when he, Harry, had had no idea?

Wondering distractedly if Draco had experienced similar visions that night, Harry rubbed his eyes, watching the path traced by the light of the muggle cars below across his ceiling. Before more than twenty minutes had passed, Harry was just dozing off again when he heard a muffled thump coming from the next room and a garbled obscenity.

Grinning slightly, Harry moved to investigate. His presumptions had been correct, and Draco had rolled right off the white couch and into a heap on the floor. He was also looking most displeased about it.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he grumbled, as Harry came in, "second bad wake up call of the night." Ignoring him, Harry sat on the couch and pulled Draco back into his seat, throwing the fur rug around them both.

"Get lonely, Potter?" Draco asked nonchalantly, yawning widely.

"Er…no," Harry said, "I wanted to ask if you had any weird dreams last night." Draco's face looked confused for a moment, before he said,

"I think I did, why?"

"Dunno," Harry looked at his hands, "I had them too, I think they were visions of out lives. What did you dream about?" he asked curiously. Draco reddened slightly,

"Our last…meeting," he said, "Before Hogwarts ended. It was under the stadium at the Quidditch pitch."  
"What happened?" Harry asked, a smile quirking his lips.

"You came up behind me," Draco said, his flush deepening, "and we talked and decided that whatever we were doing would have to end, and then we…er…" he trailed off but Harry caught the gist of what he was saying. "And I dreamed about when I was studying dragons," he said with a much stronger voice, "I went to Madagascar, and- hey! I can speak Malagasy!" his delight was evident by his voice.

"You can? Cool." Harry said, "I hope I can speak another language. What were the dragons like?"

"Really sleepy," said Draco, trying to remember everything from his dream. "What did you dream about, then?"

Harry shivered slightly, despite the weight of the fur rug, "I was about nineteen or twenty," he said, "and I had gone into this mansion place to fight Voldemort alone." Draco snorted,

"You would," he said.

"But he wasn't there," Harry continued with difficulty, "It was…your father." Draco went slightly rigid beside him.

"My father?" he asked, "Escaped from Azkaban?"

"Apparently so," Harry said.

"What happened next?" Draco asked, as if dreading the answer.

"He told me you had rejoined the Death Eaters," Harry said, "and I called him a liar. He then tortured me with the Cruciatus curse." He chanced a look at Draco's face, and noticed he had gone a little paler. Still, he stared right back at Harry, holding his gaze.

"Oh," was all he said.

"And then it faded," Harry replied.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered, "that he put you through that."

"It's not your fault," said Harry, and there was a stony silence between them. "Hey," he said, "I also dreamt about our first meeting after five years."

"Oh yeah?" Draco brightened, "What was it like?"

"Just as Hermione said," Harry chuckled, "very lustful. Your first words to me were to ask if I was wearing a girl's scarf."

"Were you?" Draco asked without missing a beat.

"Yes, come to think of it," Harry said, thinking hard. Draco laughed softly, a nice sound, and one Harry had rarely heard from him. He knew every derisive snort and scathing snicker, but this was different, this was pleasant.

"We must be quite a couple," he said.

"Hmm," Harry replied, pensive.

"I wonder if we'll get these every night," Draco mused,

"I hope so," said Harry, "it's fascinating to see what's going to happen to us."

"And supposing we see something we don't want to see?" Draco said delicately. Harry fixed him with a probing look for a moment before sighing again,

"Life isn't perfect," he said, and settled back against the plush comfort of the sofa. Draco stayed where he was for a minute before settling back as well, drawing the fur throw closer around him.

There was an hour or two of peaceful silence wherein Harry dozed quietly, falling in and out of a shallow sleep that seemed beyond him. He woke to find himself enjoying a face-full of someone else's skin. As most of his senses returned he realised he had fallen asleep with his head against Draco's shoulder and his face was now nestled next to the man's collarbones. Harry could smell his skin, and feel the smooth hollows of Draco's shoulders beneath his chin. He could see his Adam's apple bobbing beneath his jaw, and wondered why on earth Draco had allowed this touch. That soon became clear when Draco mumbled something in his sleep and woke himself up.

"What?" he said blurrily.

"Hmm?" Harry asked, ridding himself of sleep.

"Potter," Draco said, in a voice laden with fatigue, "why are you sleeping on me?"

"You're comfortable," Harry said without thinking, wanting to go back to sleep but understanding that it was probably not on the cards right now.

"Uh-huh," he could tell Draco wasn't listening to him. 

"What are you two sleeping in here for?" Ginny's voice came from the doorway. Harry and Draco had forgotten that she was staying, and she looked very ruffled, as though she had just woken up.

"Er-" Harry began.

"If I'd known the bed was free, I wouldn't have slept on the floor," she said, looking faintly put out.

"Sorry," Harry said at once.

"Anyone hungry?" Hermione's voice rang from the kitchen area and Harry felt Draco immediately perk up.

"Me!" He called. "What time is it?" he asked Harry.

"'Bout eight thirty." Harry said, uncurling himself reluctantly, standing up and stretching. His muscles rippled appealingly as he moved, laid under acre after acre of soft, tanned skin. 

Draco looked pointedly in the other direction.

*~*~*~*~*~*

****

My heartfelt thanks go to:

__

MansionsOfDarkness, lysa, Larissa, meluvdracomucho, Meemo, Eadon, Bakemono, Agent0069, AmbrosiaBunny, Dragenphly, b, LadyAmeily, Chibichan20, Benjis VIP, Evil Story Penguins, Squifi, teaka, Kristen, Tsuyuno, PeachDancer82, usually immaculate aristocrat, Angel-Wings6, black-disc-penguin, Llewellyne, Black Elf, Kaylie, Ice-Angel06, Purveyor of Darkness:Tyrini, Refrigerate After Opening, Touya Koori Tenshi, meia, Ramilyn, Silver Dragonrider, eyes0nme19, eth, Mon2, Maxine-chan, Starry Serpent, Emster, xxbrittany, Isis-mystic, JumpyPUNKyMonkey, Ningchan, glass_vase, SyNightstorm, jelly-bean5, GeminiEmerald, Calyx-girl, Lanen Raen, Trivium, Dyann, JKH, Sondy, Gaby, Immortal Memories, Raven101319, Slice, sak, allexandrya, nil-blaze


	4. Git

__

Chapter 4: Git

~*~

When you are in trouble, people who call to sympathise are really only looking for more details - Edgar W. Howe

__

~*~

I am shame  
That walks with Love, I am most wise to turn   
Cold lips and limbs to fire; therefore discern   
And see my loveliness, and praise my name.

In Praise of Shame - Lord Alfred Douglas

~*~

In the kitchen, Hermione was up and about and preparing breakfast. Sean was sprawled over one of the sofas, his mouth open and snoring gently.

"I found this," Hermione said to Harry, motioning to the black t-shirt she was wearing this morning. "Is it ok if I wear it?"

"Sure," Harry said, sitting down next to the table, "what's for breakfast."

"Pancakes," she said cheerfully, doling out generous helpings onto five plates. There were general sighs of appreciation and gratitude from those assembled.

"Granger, I think I'm in love with you," Draco said sleepily, and he, Harry and Hermione all froze simultaneously.

"What did you just call her?" Ginny asked curiously. Draco issued a silent plea with his eyes to Harry, who was as much at a loss as he was.

"Just a joke they shared earlier," Harry said quickly. "I don't understand it either." Ginny gave Draco a funny look and sat down. Draco successfully disguised his blush by pouring honey onto his mound of pancakes.

"Thanks for this, Hermione," Harry said, trying to change the subject. Draco grunted. 

They ate quickly and when they were finished, Ginny got up to help Hermione wash the dishes.

"Watch it," Harry hissed at Draco, "you keep doing that."

"I know," Draco was studying the table.

"Someone's going to suspect something," Harry went on, more than a little annoyed at Draco's slip of the tongue. His senses were on high alert after the warnings Hermione had issued them, and he was increasingly wary of betraying anything that might lead Death Eaters to them one way or another. It was for this reason, then, that he took Draco's apparent nonchalance with such bad grace.

"I know," Draco replied.

"Like Hermione said, we could be in danger if anyone finds out about this."

"I KNOW!" Draco snapped so loudly that there was the tinkle of breaking glass from the kitchen as Ginny dropped a cup in surprise. Their two heads peered round the corner as they looked at Harry and Draco, glaring at each other across the table. Without warning, Draco got up with a start and stalked out. Harry cast Hermione and Ginny an apologetic look before following him.

From the corner, Sean woke up with a start.

"What did I miss?" he asked.

Harry followed Draco into the bedroom, where the blond leaned heavily against the windows looking out onto the world.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, Potter," Draco barked, "just leave me alone."

"No," said Harry stubbornly, "not until you tell me why you're in such a foul mood all of a sudden."

"Because I'm sick of this!" Draco whirled round. "I'm sick of having to pretend we're fucking each other, sick of not knowing what to say in this fucked up future, sick of pretending to be friends with those fucking Gryffindors."

"Did you just use the word 'fuck' three times in one sentence?" Harry asked, trying to placate Draco who was talking easily loud enough to be overheard.

"Sod off," was the only answer he got.

"What?" Harry said. "Do you think this is easy on me?"

"You seem to be getting on ok," Draco said sullenly.

"Oh stop being stupid, Malfoy," Harry said, quite angry now at Draco's petulant manner. "I don't like this any more than you do, but unfortunately, we're stuck here for the time being, so if you could just refrain from being a class-A git, that'd be great."

"Me?!" Draco sputtered, turning round to face Harry, his grey eyes clouded with anger. "You're the one who keeps having a go at me for making mistakes!"  
"Because it's dangerous!" Harry yelled. "You've got to be more careful!"

"I don't care any more!" Draco yelled back. "I just want to go home. I don't want to wake up with you sleeping on me, I don't want to have to shudder every time I think about what my future has turned into, I don't want to be having a relationship with _you_." Harry recoiled, stung. For a moment there was a distinct ruefulness present in Draco's eyes and he made a movement as if to grasp Harry's forearm, but Harry shook him off sharply.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," he spat acidly, before storming out of the room and slamming the door hard in Draco's face.

He stormed back into the living room where Hermione, Ginny and Sean were sitting, looking at him nervously.

"What?" he said coldly, and threw himself down on the sofa and turned on the TV.

"Everything ok?" Ginny asked tentatively but Harry ignored her. He was at a complete loss with the hundreds of channels that they seemed to have on this television. He looked at the remote control and the little 'sky' button at the top. What the hell was that? This was nothing like the remote control at the Dursleys'. Throwing it down impatiently, he sat, staring at the wall with a irritable expression on his face.

Hermione came and sat next to him.

"We couldn't help overhearing," she said and Harry suddenly fixed her with a panicked look, how much did they overhear?

Catching onto his train of thought she shook her head slightly, indicating that everything was ok.

"Yeah, well," Harry said vindictively, "he's a git, isn't he?"

"Don't say that," Ginny suddenly looked distressed, "I hate to see you guys fighting."

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Harry said to no-one in particular, just venting his feelings.

"We'd better be going," Sean said, standing up. "We won't intrude on the domestic bliss." Harry gave a short, bark-like laugh. They gathered their things together whilst Harry made his way back to the bedroom, feeling as though he should get dressed at some point. Inside, he noticed Draco twirling his wand through his fingers, and looking up when Harry entered. He looked as though he wanted to say something but the expression on Harry's face stopped him. Grabbing a pair of jeans, some clean underwear and a t-shirt, Harry vanished into the bathroom.

He took a long, hot shower that did wonders to cleanse him of some of the lingering anger that washed over his system. When he was out he towelled his hair dry and stood for a long time in front of the mirror, just gazing at his reflection thoughtfully. His eyes pierced his face like violently green emeralds, sparkling in the light. They were too bold for his face, too striking, they drew attention, upsetting the balance between his features. He wondered why he was suddenly so preoccupied with his looks; vanity certainly hadn't been a character vice of his.

Getting dressed slowly, Harry pulled on some comfortable, faded jeans, and a black sweater. Wandering out, his hair still damp, he saw that Draco had dressed as well, in jeans and a grey shirt. They retained their silence for as long as they were in the room together, which wasn't long.

"Harry," came Ginny's voice, "we're going." She stood in the doorway, looking slightly nervously at the pair of them who stared moodily back.

"Ok," Harry said,

"Hermione wants to talk to you first," Ginny said. "She's in the living room, and she looks secretive." She gave Harry a funny grin, which he returned weakly and he made his way into the living room.

Hermione was waiting for him.

"You have a meeting today," she said, with the flustered air of one who has just remembered something vitally important.

"What!?" Harry looked thunderstruck.

"With your publishing agent," Hermione said. "You're a writer."

"I'm a what now?" Harry said incoherently.

"A writer," Hermione said, glancing back down at the door where the others were waiting. "You published a novel about six months ago. Your publisher wants to meet you to discuss your most recent payment and possible future works. This is the address, it's just across the street, you can't miss it."

"Oh crap," he said, looking completely terrified, "please come with me."

"I can't, Harry, I have work," Hermione said apologetically, "You'll be fine." She kissed him. "Your mind actually has the knowledge you need to get through this. You haven't changed that much, you know, so just go along with your gut instinct and you'll be fine. Keep talking to a minimum," she advised.

"What was my novel called?" Harry asked suddenly.

"'Hunted," Hermione replied, "it was a story about a girl who becomes psychologically unstable after an accident. It's very good actually. There's a copy of it around here somewhere if you want to get a little background knowledge of it to help you."

"Can't I cancel it?" Harry pleaded.

"No, this could be your big break," Hermione said, patting him on the back. "I have to go, I'll see you later."

"What's later?" Harry groaned.

"Do me a favour," Hermione said, "check your calendar?" She was gone. The door slammed shut.

He was a writer? _A writer?_ How the hell had that happened? From Harry's dreams he had naturally assumed that he had become an Auror like Moody or Tonks, and joined the Order against Voldemort. He wondered what had happened to induce him to make such a drastic change. And Hermione had said he was good? His essays at Hogwarts had always been abysmal, and he sincerely doubted that he could really be good enough to make a career out of it.

Now, though, nothing was surprising him.

Remembering her last words, Harry went to look at the calendar he had seen hanging in the kitchen. From the scribbles of black ink, he could decipher the words, _'Publisher's meeting, 1:00 pm' _and underneath that, still on that day, _'Theatre 7:30 pm'. _Oh shit. Another evening out. Harry would have to see if he could cancel that one for the good of his sanity.

The flat was as clean and tidy as if last night had never happened. Hermione and Ginny had been obliging enough to tidy up the path of detritus left by Ron, Seamus and Sean as the men had steadily destroyed the carefully laid out room. 

Harry walked over to the bookshelf, and, hunting through it, soon laid his hands on what he was looking for. The book, 'Hunted', had a plain black cover with a yellowy eyes glaring malevolently up at Harry. The title was emblazoned across the top in golden letters and the name _Harry J Potter _was written across the bottom.

Harry flipped it over. On the back was a blurb, it read,

__

'Nominated for three awards, 'Hunted' is the first novel from the acclaimed Harry Potter. Tien is a normal girl until an accident leaves her fighting for her life and for her sanity. This book chronicles her descent into mental instability as she turns against the world she lives in and the people she loves, becoming completely isolated. Follow Tien's search for answers, and her undying belief she is being hunted.

"Fantastic read!" The Guardian.

"A triumphant work, from conception to close!" The Sunday Times.

"Harry Potter has a magical career awaiting him, and he sounds vaguely familiar to me already..." J K Rowling.'

Harry gazed at the book, awed. Even as he was turning it over in his hands, he could not believe that he had written this, every word. The story sounded to angst-ridden and unnerving to be something he would choose to read for himself, let alone write. What was Hermione talking about when she said he hadn't changed much?

"I'm going for a walk," came the voice from behind him. Harry looked up to see Draco pulling on a denim jacket.

"Fine," Harry said shortly, and Draco paused for a moment before picking up a key from the sideboard and walking out.

Harry turned his attention back to the book in his hands. He shivered with excitement as he contemplated the fact that he had written this. This had come from his quill. He had done this. A glorious sense of accomplishment swelled within Harry and he found himself grinning stupidly as he opened the book and read the first couple of chapters.

After reading them, he realised that his own mental stability should be called into question. The story was dark and very disturbing, and Harry wondered what had possessed him to give such darkness a shape and a voice. He was quite impressed with himself, the quality of his written language had definitely improved a great deal and had become much more intense and powerful that it once was.

He laid the book aside, at a loss for what to do with himself. Draco had been gone for an hour or two, but Harry wasn't worried. He was still stinging over what Draco had said to him that morning. He knew they had both been angry but he didn't think their anger merited such harsh words.

Draco had almost been a different person since he'd been here. Uncertainty had tamed his tongue to the extent that he had been almost compliant, and at dinner last night his company had bordered upon pleasurable. So much had happened over the last twenty-four hours that it was difficult to make out what was true from the past from what was true for the present. Harry had made the fatal mistake, though, of forgetting that Draco was still the bratty child he had always been, who tended to lash out with his tongue when he felt cornered.

He sat down and turned on the TV again, and spent twenty minutes or so navigating the various channels. Slowly, his anger ebbed. Dusty bars of sunlight filtered through the curtains, gleaming on Harry's skin and painting him with gold. If, at that moment he had happened to glance to his left across the buildings that surrounded him, he would have seen a figure, dressed all in black standing stock still atop the neighbouring roof, eyes fixed in his direction. What was strange about this figure was the complete immovability of them, even the black material of their garments did not stir once in the breeze. They might have been a shadow. Their eyes, hooded and hidden were staring transfixed at Harry's window, the object of their scrutiny blissfully unaware of anything.

Suddenly the wind picked up outside and the shape contorted.

Harry glanced up, there was a huge black bird the size of a raven perched on the opposite building. It regarded him for a moment before flying into the sunlight with more speed than Harry had ever seen a bird muster.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco's pale lips closed around a cigarette, and he lit it with a silver lighter he had found in his pocket. Inhaling deeply, he felt his tense muscles relax slightly, and the smoke curled from his mouth towards the heavens.

He had had to get out of the flat, the atmosphere was killing him. There was an electrically charged tension existing between him and Harry that he did not think he could breach with ease. A lot of it was the stress and strain of spending a day in such confusing circumstances, but most of it was just the accumulated hostility of six years of hatred.

Six years of hatred, and then everything changed. Then he was wrapped in Harry's arms, kissing a path along his throat. Draco shuddered, how on earth had this happened? In the space of twenty-four hours no less?

The logistics of it were too much for Draco's overtired brain to contemplate, and he took another drag of his cigarette. It was a minute or two before he began to take notice of the direction in which he was going, mindful that he would need to find his way back in a while.

Hermione would seem to have been right when she had said that their flat was on the edge of the wizarding quarter. As Draco looked to the left and right along the street on which he was standing, he could almost taste the difference in the air. Magic teemed in the buildings to the right of him, tangible to all the wizards and witches in Manchester, who could sense it. Muggles couldn't feel the change in the air, the wizarding quarter was protected from them by numerous spells and enchantments. They moved along the streets without suspecting a thing, their eyes sliding along the shop fronts, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, yet feeling no great compulsion to venture inside.

Draco snorted as he thought of them. As blind to the workings of the world as children. Something inside if him panged uncomfortably as he thought of Sean, quite possibly the first muggle he had ever got along with. Shaking away this traitorous thought, Draco moved purposefully down the street, stubbing out his cigarette with his shoe, and glaring morosely at everyone he passed.

After wandering aimlessly around various side alleys and streets for what seemed like hours, Draco happened upon a pub hidden in one of the older parts of the city. A dingy sign was swinging above the doorway, it read 'The Merry Mage' and showed a moving picture of a wizard conjuring ale out of a barrel.

From what Draco could see of the inside, it was dark, seedy and utterly begrimed. The atmosphere of the pub suited his mood down to the ground. Earlier that morning he had felt in his pockets and found a substantial amount of money, as well as some bizarre currency he couldn't understand. He had asked Harry who had explained to him the relative values of pounds versus galleons, but he was still wary about using any for transactions.

It was with a sense relief, therefore, that Draco pushed open the creaking wooden door and embraced the enveloping aura of magic that swum in the air. Inside was dark, and Draco blinked owlishly as his eyes adjusted from the brightness of outside. On his entry there was a rustle of murmurs as various pairs of eyes flicked up to scrutinize him, and he regarded everyone with the same frosty disdain.

The bar was quite full, with an assortment of magical creatures that Draco felt sure would not have been able to venture out into the muggle quarter without some serious concealment charms. He spotted a hag at the bar bent low over a plate of raw liver, several obscenely hairy warlocks, a party of raucous goblins in one corner and two gabbling witches with an alarming abundance of warts covering every inch of their exposed skin.

He supposed his haughty manner coupled with his striking good looks and expensive clothes made everyone wonder why on earth he was in a place like this. Draco began to wonder himself after a moment before his eyes rested upon the racks of bottles filled with spirits.

Moving over to the bar and tapping his ringed fingers atop it, he made a subtle gesture to the grubby barman who came over, his caterpillar-esque eyebrows knitted in ill concealed nosiness.

"Can I help you?" He grunted, his voice guttural and thickly accented.

"Firewhiskey," Draco said shortly, laying out three sickles on the counter and running his hand distractedly through his hair. The barman's eyes did not leave Draco's face as he fetched a glass and filled it with the amber liquid. Draco felt rather disconcerted by this, and so fixed the man with a trademark scowl.

"Thank you," he said when the barman gathered up the coins and placed Draco's drink in front of him. Draco swirled it thoughtfully around his glass, his eyes riveted by the tiny whirlpool he created, before he took a sip, and let the liquid warm him from the inside out. 

He noticed three giggling witches at the other end of the bar smiling and waving at him cheekily. He ignored them, hoping his silence was not about to be ruined by inane chatter and forced conversation. That was one thing to be said for Potter, he was as prone to meditative silences as Draco was.

He was to be disappointed. Barely a few minutes had passed before one of the witches, encouraged over by her friends, moved towards Draco, drink in hand, expectant smile on her face.

"Knut for your thoughts?" she said, seating herself on a bar stool next to him. Draco ignored her at first.

"Another Firewhiskey," he said to the barman, and downed his second drink in one gulp. He was going to need it.

The witch raised her eyebrows so high they disappeared into her frizzy mass of red hair. "It's a bit early in the day for that, isn't it?" she asked. Draco glanced at her quickly before looking away. She could have been perceived as attractive, but her curls were far too rigid and her bone structure much too manly to be truly pretty. Draco had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the more effeminate of the two.

"I'm having a crap day," he said quietly, tossing ice into his glass.

"Care to tell me about it?" she asked, tracing a line of moisture over the bar with her fingertip.

Draco turned his head slightly to look at her. What the hell, he hadn't spoken to anyone all morning. "I had a fight," he said curtly. He felt the witch run her eyes appraisingly over his frame, an irritating shamelessness in her manner.

"With your girlfriend?" she asked, a note in her voice that Draco knew meant she was hoping for the negative.

His lips twisted into a bitter half-smile. "Of a fashion," he said. She looked vaguely downcast for a moment, but her friends were giggling and pointing at her so she decided to continue her interrogation.

"What was it about?" she asked hopefully. "Can I help?"

"Probably not," Draco sighed and stretched, "he's not…the person I thought he was." He finished lamely.

"He?" The girl's astonishment was evident on her face, and for a moment, it was quite comical to observe. "Well, he must be crazy to fight with such a pretty thing as you," she said, her smile wicked.

"Pretty?" Draco spluttered, _pretty?!_

The witch was undeterred by his blatant dismay. "Why did you fight?" she asked, taking a sip of her glass of Veela Blood, a dark red drink with no actual blood in it, instead containing liberal amounts of various spirits.

"We're having some troubles at the moment," Draco said cagily, unwilling to enter into a deep conversation on the matter. "Difficult circumstances, you know, we just said some really cruel things to each other this morning." Something struck him with sudden uneasy sensation stretching across his chest. "Or, I did," he muttered so the witch could barely hear him. It was the truth, he supposed, he had been foul to Harry that morning.

"What did you say to him?" the witch asked.  
"That I never wanted my future to turn out this way, that I didn't want to wake up next to him any more," Draco said slowly, every bitter word rolling around his tongue like poison. Since when had he been so cruel?  
"Ouch," the witch said, her eyes wandering idly over her drink.

"Yeah," Draco said, his mouth twisting, "but we hated each other for years once, and I really don't understand how we got so close so fast. It's strange."

"Do you want to make up with him?" she asked curiously, and Draco found himself at a loss.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I feel I should, if only to keep the peace."

There was a silence for a moment before the witch continued. "So," she said, her bright eyed inquisitiveness rekindled, "what are these difficult circumstances you're trying to work through?" 

Draco gave a soft, sad laugh,

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

*~*~*~*~*~*

A bird swooped down to perch on a crumbling stone wall, its hooked claws and cruel beak marking it as a hunter, its glossy black feathers ruffled from flight.

"You're late," a rough voice echoed out of the shadows and with a fluttering of wings, the bird transformed gracefully into a woman, her black gown falling gently around her.

"A woman's prerogative," she muttered, lowering her hood and cursing the sunlight which warmed her face beyond comfort. She could not have lowered her hood once as she kept her vigil, lest she be discovered.

"You were supposed to be here half an hour ago," another voice said. This one issued from a man absorbed in alleviating his boredom by making thistles dance.

"I had to make sure they were alone!" the woman snapped icily. "There were people staying with them last night, Order members, some of them, I couldn't take the chance that they knew we were coming and had added security."

"Your main concern is to be here when we tell you," the latter man stood up swiftly and surveyed the woman with clear dislike. "We have many things to discuss and a very short time in which to do so."

"It is not for you to command me!"

"Quiet!" the first voice bellowed again, startling several birds from the treetops. The other two fell silent. "Thank you, Bella, for your work this morning. What have you learnt?"

"That they are unaware of our presence in the city," Bella replied, shedding her heavy cloak to reveal coiled ringlets and hawk-like eyes that marked her as the woman Harry had last seen spelling Sirius through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. "The wards around their home are still there but have not been added to. Malfoy left this morning to go somewhere."

"Where did he go?" The man leaned forward eagerly and grasped Bellatrix's arm.

"I don't know," she replied coldly, "I did not have leave to follow him, I felt I should return." The man sighed with apparent disappointment.

"We have to know if they have left their reality," he said. "Only then will we stand a chance of defeating them."

"I tell you it will not work," the man who had been crouched in the thistles got to his feet and pocketed his wand. The other two immediately bristled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean simplicity is the key to defeating these two," he said, "and I have said it over and over again."

"Simplicity led to the deaths of so many of our fellows," Bellatrix said. "We have tried simplicity but we are ready to change the fabric of reality to get our revenge."

"You already have," the man practically yelled, "and you haven't thought about the possible consequences!" An unpleasant light lit up Bellatrix's eyes.

"I have thought of the revenge we will exact this way," she said.

"We don't know how we will have changed things by doing this," the man suddenly flung back his hood to reveal himself as Macnair, the executioner for the Ministry of Magic. "We have invoked a magic ancient and powerful enough to rewrite history leaving only them aware of it, so that we might confront them in our own time and on our own terms. We will not be able to control this magic until it has played out. They might tell someone as soon as they arrive in this time, then what?"

"All the more reason for us to catch them as soon as they are transferred here. We can't predict the future," Bellatrix said, "but we can fight those who have wronged us this way, do you think we would have stood a chance against them if they were prepared? This way we may fight the boys instead of the men, to hell with changing history."

"These are no ordinary boys," the other man said, keeping his face firmly in shadow. "They are Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. We have brought them from their own time into a world they know nothing about and are not ready to face. We have stripped them of their homes and security, and we have meddled with Time itself to banish the memories of this transferral from the minds of their friends."

"We should have brought them when they were children," Macnair growled. "Easier to kill."

"Do you honestly think none of their companions would notice if they suddenly developed the mentalities of children?" the man snapped, "No. There is no subtlety to you, Macnair, we had to strike at the moment when they were ready, when pride and wariness would prevent them from betraying themselves to everyone around them. They are more vulnerable this way."

Bellatrix smiled like a snake, and picking up a thistle from the ground, crushed it between her fingers.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The time of Harry's appointment rolled by much quicker than he would have liked. A sick swoop of nervousness had settled over his gut and he heartily wished he wouldn't have to endure what was surely going to be a horrible ordeal. He glanced at the business card he had found in the kitchen.

__

F. Scott Publishing - No. 6 Deansgate, Manchester.

Picking it up and pocketing it, Harry slipped on a black, pinstripe blazer he had found and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill. Draco still wasn't back yet and Harry supposed he should leave him a not explaining his absence. He just wasn't sure what to write.

__

Draco, he crossed that out at once. _Malfoy, _he wrote, _I've got a meeting with my publisher this afternoon, apparently I'm a novelist or something. I'll be back later, we're going to a play with Hermione and the others. Try and find out what the hell it is._

Harry. He crossed that out too. _Potter._

Pinning this to a packet of cigarettes, Harry picked up a set of keys and exited the building.

The publishing offices were not too difficult to find, and Harry soon found himself staring up at a handsomely chiselled building, only five minutes late. Hurrying inside he studied the plaque on the wall that detailed the floor plan. F. Scott's office was on the third floor and Harry darted into the lift as it clanked into view.

A light, airy set of rooms greeted him. The office was bustling with activity, as people scurried from place to place, reams of paper in their arms and mobile phones nestled close to their ears. It was a sea of noise, and every surface seemed to be taken up by wilting plants, coffee machines and faded newspapers. Thirty seconds into his visit and Harry knew that this was a muggle establishment. Several people looked up and smiled when he entered, and one girl called out.

"Go right in, Mr. Potter, she's waiting for you."

Swallowing nervously, Harry nodded, pushed open the door emblazoned with _F. Scott Publishing _and poked his head round.

A calm office furnished in dark brown awaited his entry. A pretty young woman sitting behind a mahogany desk looked up and smiled.

"You're less late than usual," she commented, and Harry grinned, blushing slightly.

"Sorry," he said.

"I've come to expect it," she shifted some papers off her desk and motioned for him to sit down.

"What did you want to see me about?" Harry asked, a little apprehensively.

"Nothing to worry about," the woman said kindly. "I just wanted to discuss your possible options."

"Ok," Harry swallowed again, his throat very dry.

"Hunted is doing well on the continent," she announced, shoving some figures towards him. "Your royalties are likely to improve over the coming year, and the translation into Spanish is nearly complete."

"Great," Harry said, a little overwhelmed.

"It's not selling so well in America," F. Scott said, rubbing thoughtfully at her pencilled eyebrow, "mainly because you're less well known there. Predictions are good, however, and you might need to spend a week or two in New York to launch it properly. You need to get yourself out and about, right now you're presenting the image of a terribly chic, brooding young Englishman, and that'll work in your favour, they love authors with a bit of colour." Harry tried to absorb this information, feeling as though his brain was going into overdrive. Miss Scott was talking very quickly now and the sheets of figures in front of him were seriously intimidating.

"So you think I should concentrate on promoting 'Hunted' rather than working on anything new?" Harry ventured. Miss Scott raised her eyebrows, but she looked thoughtful.

"Have you got anything else in mind?" she asked.

"Well not at the moment," Harry said quickly, "but I was just wondering if you thought it would be a good idea to begin another project."

"Hmm," Miss Scott began rifling through her papers again, before shoving an entire stack on the floor in impatience. "Ah, here it is," she said, swooping on a piece of paper that had been lodged under the pile that was now littered on the floor. "Sophie?" she called, and a petite woman with long blonde hair peered round the door.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Clear this up?" Miss Scott pointed to the scattered papers on the floor. Harry watched in fascination as Sophie began to scoop up the files. Miss Scott's commanding presence seemed to have a authoritative effect on everyone who came near her.

"There is a niche in the market for another twisted, psychological thriller," she said, her eyes perusing the piece of paper in her hands. "That's your forte, or so I seem to remember, and might be worth you having a think about."

__

Twisted, psychological thriller?

"Ok," Harry said, "sure."

"Great," Miss Scott suddenly smiled broadly, "I also called you here to pay you your latest instalment," she said, and Harry visibly brightened. This was something he could understand in any time period.

"Fantastic," he said excitedly. Miss Scott rummaged around her desk once more before picking up a dark blue file with the word 'Potter' written across it. She pulled out what looked like a cheque, picked up a silver Mont Blanc pen, and signed it with a flourish.

"Here you go," she said. "I think you'll find this is what we agreed in your contract." Harry took the cheque and almost choked.

"Sixty thousand?" he said and Miss Scott looked at him enquiringly.

"Not what you expected?" she asked. "Don't forget the payment you received six months ago, this is just the final cheque."  
"No, this is..." Harry couldn't find the words. He looked up at his publishing agent with a bright gleam in his green eyes, his face alight with surprise and happiness, "this is great," he finished.

"Lovely," Miss Scott's relief showed in her face. Harry had the impression that he would have been entitled to ask for more, but was too elated to contemplate that, "I'll be seeing you soon, then?"

"Sure," Harry said, getting up and shaking Miss Scott's hand, "see you soon." Slipping the cheque securely into his inside pocket, Harry left.

He could barely stop himself from whistling with delight as he made his way out of the building. Feeling particularly generous, he gave the doorman a remarkably large tip and pushed open the door, grinning like an idiot.

He had just walked out of that building with sixty grand in his pocket. Chic, brooding Englishman? That had been quite possibly one of the most perplexing and yet rewarding moments of Harry's life, as the full weight of his achievements had swamped him and he realised just how valued he was.

He walked all the way home in a complete daze. It wasn't until he found the door to their flat open than he realised that Draco must have returned from his 'walk'. Draco was sitting in the living room inside, his face absorbed in a book. He looked up when Harry entered and the latter felt any anger dissipate in the wake of such a successful meeting.

"Hi," Draco said, a little nervously, "good meeting?"

"Yeah," Harry said, taking off his jacket and slinging it over a chair. He pulled out the cheque and laid it in front of Draco.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Look," said Harry, and Draco picked it up, his eyes sparkling.

"What the...?" he said. "Where did you get this?"

"Publisher," Harry said, "latest payment."  
"This is amazing," Draco got to his feet and slapped Harry on the back.

"I know," Harry said, "not what I expected at all." He looked up and Draco caught his eye in a moment of quiet.

"I'm sorry," the Slytherin blurted out without warning. He must have registered Harry's surprise, "about this morning," he went on.

"S'ok," Harry found himself saying, "forget it." Another silence.

"You're a good writer, you know," Draco said, and picked up the book he had been buried in. It was 'Hunted'.

"You read this?" Harry asked, amazed.

"Some of it," Draco shrugged. "It's good, but I have to say I'm questioning your sanity. This is very dark and menacing."

"I know," Harry said, "weird, isn't it?" Draco turned away. "Where did you go?" Harry asked, more for the sake of making conversation than anything else.

"Bar," Draco said, "the Merry Mage, and I spent an hour with beautiful women fawning over me and my devilishly good looks." Harry snickered. "Ok," Draco said, "so it was only one witch having a bad hair day, but still."

"Sounds like fun," Harry murmured, rummaging around the kitchen for something to eat. "Oh," he said, standing up and examining a jar of peanut butter, "we're going a play tonight, did you get my note?"

"Yeah, it's the Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde," Draco said. "I found a pair of tickets on the bedside table.

"I've never read it," Harry said, and Draco grinned suddenly.

"Cultureless cretin," he replied.

"I see you're back to normal," Harry said, shoving some peanut butter into a roll. "Do you want a sandwich?"

"Yes, please," Draco said. "It's a play about mistaken identity, full of amusing paradoxes, irritating characters and the sophisticated wit of someone who's been dead for nearly a century."

"Sounds wonderful," Harry said unenthusiastically, buttering another roll.

"Actually, it's very good," Draco said thoughtfully, "my father took me to see it years ago, whilst spending the interval ranting about the private life of the author."

"Which was so interesting because...?" Harry asked.

"Oscar Wilde was a homosexual who spent his days buggering men half his age," Draco said nonchalantly, picking at his fingernails. "My father sat muttering about him being a raving sodomite, whilst laughing at the jokes in the play itself. He always did like irony."

Harry nodded. "I knew he was gay," he said, "not that he was the subject of such disapproval within the Malfoy family unit."

"You, Potter are completely without cultivation," Draco went on, perching on the armrest, his lips sliding into a half-smile, "and so I'm sure will enjoy the play immensely."

"Another paradox?" Harry said, effectively shutting Draco up by sticking a roll in his mouth.

"Mmph," Suddenly a telephone rang, and Draco fell off his perch in surprise. Harry glanced around hurriedly, trying to detect the source of the ringing, and he soon found a silver cordless phone buried under a newspaper.

"Hello?" he said uncertainly.

"Harry? It's me," Hermione's voice broke from the other end of the line.

"Oh hi," Harry said, relieved. He noticed Draco looking at him curiously, obviously never having seen a phone in action.

"Everything ok?" she asked.

"Yeah not bad," Harry said, "publisher paid me."  
"Oh that's great!" Hermione exclaimed. "How much?"

"Sixty grand," Harry said, looking at the cheque fondly and wondering if he could frame it. "I've never seen so much money in my life."

"She paid you more last time, you know," Hermione said. "Your book is doing really well."

"I surmised as much," said Harry, smiling.

"Did you do ok at the meeting?" Hermione asked, a definite note of worry in her voice.

"Well I didn't make an arse out of myself," Harry said. "Don't worry about me."

"There is something you should know," Hermione said. "I've been looking through the library."

"Yes?" Harry said eagerly.

"I can't find anything, Harry, I'm sorry," Harry felt as though he was deflating quickly.

"What?" he said.

"There might still be something that might help you," Hermione said. "I didn't look for long."

"Oh," Harry said numbly, "Oh well."

"I want you and Draco to come over tomorrow and help me look," Hermione said quickly. "I think we'll be able to get more done the three of us."

"Ok," Harry said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His heart was sinking faster than the Titanic. He had almost forgotten Hermione would have checked in her library by now for something that would be able to help them.

"Don't worry, Harry," she was saying. "We'll get you home somehow."

"I hope so," Harry said.

"I don't want to worry you or anything," Hermione went on, "but I've spoken to Kingsley Shacklebolt, you know him?"

"The Auror?"

"That's the one," Hermione replied. "Well, he's been tracing some Death Eater factions for a while now and he thinks you're a target again."

"I knew that, didn't I?" Harry asked, the familiar wave of panic rising in his chest.

"The worry of attack had eased off for a few months," Hermione said. "Whilst Voldemort has been abroad you've been relatively safe, but there seems to be an increase in activity at the moment."

"Oh," Harry said mutely.

"I just want you to be extra careful," Hermione said. "There're wards all around your apartment of course, but I just thought I should warn you."

"Thanks," Harry said, his throat dry, "I'm sure we'll be ok."

"I'm sure you will," Harry could almost hear Hermione's comforting smile as she hung up.

"What did she say?" asked Draco.

"That she's had no luck so far with finding something that might get us home," Harry said. Draco's face fell.  
"Damn," he murmured, "I thought Hermione, if anyone, would be able to help."

"She'll find something," Harry said, with more conviction than he felt. "She wants us to go over there tomorrow to help her look." Draco nodded mutely and swallowed.

"Supposing we don't find anything?" he asked.

"Don't think that way," Harry met his eyes and found them full of fear, fear of losing the eight years between their past and their present. Years full of adventure that they might never see.

"But supposing we don't?" he persisted and Harry threw him a look that spoke volumes. "Humour me," he said quietly.

"Then we'll just have to trust to the infinite knowledge of the Professor My-Hair's-So Greasy-There're-Grindylows-Living-In-It Snape," Harry said and Draco snorted with laughter.

"Cut him some slack," he said. "Snape's not so bad."

"Yeah, well," Harry said darkly, "he likes you, doesn't he?"

"Thus the basis of his appeal," Draco replied smoothly. "You like that oaf Hagrid because he's nice to you. It's the same thing."

"No way, it's completely different," Harry protested. "You've always been a git to Hagrid."

"And you've always been the picture of courtesy to Snape?" Draco asked, turning back to him with a smile. Harry grumbled something under his breath and picked up the strange remote control, thinking vaguely of watching some more television.

Draco watched in fascination as Harry navigated through the various channels until he alighted upon something intellectually stimulating, and something that made a statement about the socio-economic climate of the world they lived in.

"What's the 'Simpsons'?" Draco asked.

~*~


	5. Of Sodomy and Psychoanalysis

****

Quick note on the chapter: This chapter could quite possibly be classed as filler, so I send my apologies in advance. Due to demand, there will be some forthcoming accompanying scenes to this story showing what happened to their future selves in their past bodies. These won't be arriving for some time, but I thought I should let you know.

__

Chapter 5: Of Sodomy and Psychoanalysis

~*~

The play was a great success but the audience was a disaster - Oscar Wilde

~*~

__

I go to the theatre to be entertained. I don't want to see rape, sodomy, incest and drug addiction. I can get all of that at home - Peter Cook

~*~

The curtain at the theatre rose with a swish of crimson velvet and an obliging murmur from the crowd. Draco felt a customary shiver of excitement as the drapes swept open to reveal an elaborately constructed set, built into the fashion of a Victorian London flat. He loved the theatre and the air of culture that it seemed to be swathed in. He had been going for as long as he could remember, sitting in the dark red seats in his family's private box, his eyes peeking over the gilt railings to where the actors stood on the stage far below. 

Unlike the plebeians below, Draco didn't fidget or squirm with boredom, he absorbed every word that issued from the lips of Romeo, Salome, Banquo and Alceste, loving the way that sentences inked from a writer's mind made their way into the mouths of others. The perfect diction, the flawless command of language and the glittering cadence of the actors' voices formed worlds in Draco's mind where reality paved the way for pretence and art was created through deception and guile.

He had been spellbound from his very first outing and since then had learned to listen between the lines of script, deciphering the secrets of the writer from their characters. He watched the play as the writer intended, the myriad of realms opening out before him and offering him a night's freedom from the starched expectations of upper-class wizarding society. The theatre, somewhat incongruously, was the only place where Draco could cast aside the elaborate masks he forged around himself and watch someone else's attempt at pretence. It was a place of learning and thought, where wit was used like a foil to strip away the airs of the audience.

They had wonderful seats, right at the front of one of the side boxes, with no more than their four red velvet chairs in there. The theatre itself was gloriously old-fashioned, with gilt railings, faded vines stretching across the ceiling, and everything damasked in a deep crimson.

Next to him, Draco felt Harry shift, and tug uncomfortably at his collar. Draco could tell he hated being so dressed up, and was decidedly ill at ease. Privately, he thought Harry looked much better when he dressed smartly, and Draco had made him take a comb to his hair and try to tame it further.

On the other side of him, Hermione sat with Sean. She looked positively radiant tonight, dressed in a simple silk gown of midnight blue, with a simple chain of diamonds strung about her neck. Draco had even deigned to compliment her on her appearance and Hermione, who knew what an effort it must have cost him, had smiled winningly, her face glowing with pleasure.

She had many visual values, and more so than Sean, although he was handsome too, in his own way. A moment's consideration was all it took for Draco to understand that their match was one based on something more than a physical attraction. There was a noticeable empathy between them that stemmed from complete trust, love and devotion to each other. What Draco wouldn't give to have that one day. To have that strength of feeling for someone else.

With only a moment's hesitation he laid one hand fleetingly atop Harry's and felt him relax slightly by his side. They settled back in their chairs, eager for a night's culture. As the lights dimmed, and the first characters strode purposefully onto the stage, Draco felt content at last.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Some time later, the interval came in a storm of clapping and cheering. The curtain swung down, and the theatre was once more illuminated into life. The audience began to stir, taking advantage of the half hour they had to grab refreshment. Hermione leaned over and touched his arm.

"Sean and I are going to get a drink from the bar," she said. "We'll be back in a bit." Draco nodded.

"Ok," he said. He glanced at Harry who was looking over the balcony with a mild interest, watching the people move around beneath him. The flickering lights of the candles sent their gleaming echoes dancing across Harry's hair, striking a contrast against the jet. Draco watched as he played with a silver ring in his hands, a nervous gesture he had recently acquired, and wondered if Harry felt a bit out of place here.

"So," he asked, "what do you think so far?" Harry turned and smiled at him.

"Inescapably confusing," he said, rubbing his eyes, and Draco felt a twinge of sympathy for his situation, for it was evident that he felt uncomfortable.

"What is there to misunderstand?" Draco replied, his eyes lighting with enthusiasm. "Ok, apart from the numerous aliases, Victorian slang and furtive contradictions," he added.

Harry laughed shortly. "Apart from that, it's great," he said.

"I never tire of this play," Draco mused, recalling the last time he had seen it, in London with his father. Somehow it wasn't the same without listening to someone rant about the evils of homosexuality during the interval, "and it seems particularly ironic that our future selves should have arranged to see it," he said thoughtfully, and Harry's brows knitted.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because of the play's themes," Draco said. "It's all about the 'masks of manners' that people wear, and the hypocritical masks of society."

Harry nodded. "Hypocrisy. The English vice," he said, with a little contempt.  
"Yeah," Draco replied, "and Wilde explores the idea of dual identities, a rather fitting theme considering our current predicament." A troubled expression flitted across Harry's face for a moment and he bit his lip.

"I should say so," he said, "but I thought the only element of dual identity was in the use of the alias 'Ernest'."

"No, not at all, but the true depths of it wouldn't become clear unless you knew something about Wilde's private life," Draco said, recalling what his father had talked about on the several occasions he had sat and watched this play.

"Doubtless you do," Harry grinned again.

"Well, funnily enough, it also strikes a little close to home," Draco said, and cringed as he felt a faint flush rise to his pale cheeks. "Wilde drops some serious hints about homosexual liaisons through the dialogue, and as a closeted fag for most of his life, he was well aware of the dual identities of sexual orientation."

"That _is_ close to home," Harry said quietly, and there was a moment of silence between them, but it wasn't discomfiting. "I suppose it shows that our alter egos are closer to reality than we think."

"Yes, it does," Draco said, and knew that he hadn't managed to keep the hint of approbation from his voice. "You're remarkably astute when the inclination strikes." He said amusedly, perceiving a facet of Harry that he had thus far been ignorant of.

"A compliment from a Malfoy?" Harry held a hand to Draco's head, as if checking for a fever. "Has the world stopped turning?"

"Quite possibly," Draco grinned, despite himself.

"I like the way Wilde presents the aesthete," Harry said suddenly, a true appreciation colouring his voice "so trivial and empty."

"That's irony in itself in its purest form," Draco said, raising his eyebrows and fixing Harry with a look that often sent girls into quivering heaps on the floor. Predictably, Harry was completely unaffected.

"How?" he asked.

"Wilde was similar to Algernon in that he trivialized serious matters and solemnized trivial ones," he said, having studied the play from every angle and excited to have someone to share his interpretations with. "He was an aristocratic hedonist who liked nothing better than indulging in life's sensual pleasures, and yet he ridicules this aspect of human life in the play. He displays hypocrisy, whilst professing a detestation for it."

"I see what you mean, maybe I'm not as cultureless as you would have me believe," Harry said and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I highly doubt that," he answered scathingly, but by the way Harry was looking amusedly at him, Draco knew that the injected derision did not have quite the intended effect. Maybe Harry was finally seeing through him; that was a worrying thought.

"Oh really?" Harry leaned a little closer to him, eyes dancing. "Did you, by chance, comprehend the statement he was making about art and its relationship with beauty?" He asked.

"What statement?" Draco said blankly, knowing that Harry was likely to endeavour to prove his own erudite worth as only the Gryffindor could.

"Despite having never read this play, I know a little of what Wilde wrote, or at least, my future self does," Harry said, "and he thought art's primary relationship should be with beauty, not with reality. Art should not mirror reality; rather, Wilde has said, it should be 'useless,' in the sense of not serving a social purpose; it is useful for our appreciation of beauty. Therefore, Algernon's idleness is not merely laziness, but the product of someone who has cultivated an esteemed sense of aesthetic uselessness." he nudged Draco's shoulder with his fist, a wicked look on his face. Draco was impressed by his construal, and that approval showed clearly on his face. "He's much like you in that respect. Appreciated solely for his beauty, yet utterly useless," he said, and Draco was sentient only to the compliment Harry had paid him.

"Beauty? A compliment from a Potter," he said, snickering. "How likewise unparalleled."

"Are you impressed by my interpretation?" Harry asked, expecting immediate denial, even though he had witnessed the admiration in Draco's gaze.

"Mildly," Draco said, leaning languidly in his seat, "but you did overlook his attempt at criticizing the use of marriage as a social tool," he said, nudging Harry back.

"Well that situation doesn't quite apply to us," Harry said with a perfectly executed hint of disdain, "and is therefore of little interest." Draco couldn't help laughing. He had read, loved and laughed at this play for many years, and yet entering into a philosophical conversation about it with his father was impossible. There was a strange sense of compassion forged between him and Harry that had never existed before, and could only be born of a scholarly understanding that could not be nurtured within the oppression of Hogwarts.

"I couldn't agree more," Draco said, an unreadable expression flickering in his eyes. Harry looked up suddenly, his eyes moving from the silver ring in his hands to rest on Draco's face. For the briefest of seconds it looked as if Harry was going to say something. Draco looked helplessly at his lips, feeling his own mouth grow dry and wondering vaguely why that was.

"Hey guys." The moment was officially ruined as both Harry and Draco jumped as Hermione and Sean returned, glasses in their hands.

"Hey," Harry said, and Draco was faintly gratified to sense no trace of relief in his voice.

"What have you been doing?" Sean asked, an insinuating edge to his voice that invoked an immediate awkwardness in Draco that he couldn't place. "Hermione told me what she found you two doing in the changing rooms at Selfridges," he said by way of explanation, and both Harry and Draco blushed furiously.

"Just talking," Draco said, "about Oscar Wilde's hidden intentions behind the play."

"Sounds fascinating," Sean said good naturedly, "and I can't deny I'm not glad to find you both fully clothed."

"Well," Draco made a point of straightening his tie and running his hand through his hair in a suave manner that suggested it had recently been tousled in a moment of passion, "Harry and I don't hang around," he said, winking, and Hermione giggled.

"Enjoying yourselves then?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, grateful for the change in conversation, "these are great seats."

"It's useful knowing the people that run the place," Sean said, "even if they are lowly muggles." Everyone looked good-naturedly at Draco who found himself quite tongue-tied.

"I never...well..." he began, but failed, "ah screw it," he said. "You're the only decent muggle I know."

"It's so reassuring to know that some things will never change," Harry said, and Hermione shot him a warning look, as if suggesting that this was not a subject to be entered into.

"Oh look," she said, as the curtains parted again, "it's starting." The crowd hushed as one, and the only sounds could be heard from the various latecomers scurrying back to their seats.

"Ready to continue your dramatic education?" Draco whispered, his lips unsettlingly close to Harry's ear.

"Bring it on."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Despite his previous misgivings, Harry thoroughly enjoyed the play. It was a rare occasion where he found himself able to accurately interpret hidden meaning behind dialogue, and had spent the duration of the second part avidly analysing it further. 

As the cast came on the stage to take their final bows, the audience got to their feet and applauded, and Harry found himself leaning against the balcony, and clapping hard. He wondered if this was a routine night out for him and Draco, and whether he was behaving differently than normal. Such fears were soon assuaged, though, as he watched Hermione and Sean yelling, _"Encore!" _with one voice.

As the theatre was run by muggles, it did not cater for the transportation needs of wizards and Harry and Draco had to take a muggle taxi home. Saying goodbye to Hermione and Sean outside the theatre doors, Harry pulled Draco into the nearest black cab and sank into the seats.

"I'm exhausted," he said. "Culture is tiring."

"You don't get enough of it," Draco stated, yawning. The sky had darkened to an inky black, across which were strung the frail, glimmering stars that made up the heavens. The yellow glow of Manchester's many lights made skywatching difficult, but it was reassuring to see the familiar constellations winking at them through the tinted windows of the taxi.

They didn't speak much on the way back, and as soon as they got home, Harry tore off his tie and threw his jacket on the table.

"That has been driving me mad all night," he said. "I don't like wearing suits."  
"You should get used to it," Draco said. "You can't spend your entire life in jeans, you know."

"Why not? Jeans are perfectly practical, and can be dressed up or down," Harry said loosening his top two buttons and rubbing his neck.

"If you're planning on stripping completely," Draco said with a hint of amusement, "please let me know so I can get out now."

"I just don't like ties," Harry mumbled, scowling. "You can't tell me you're comfortable in that."  
"Why not?" Draco did an exaggerated twirl. "It's nicer than wearing robes."

"That's right, Malfoy," Harry said with a grin, "embrace the muggle in you." Now it was Draco's turn to scowl.

"I'm going to bed," he said tiredly. "I don't want to listen to you harping on about muggles all night."

"Where are you sleeping?" Harry asked, suddenly looking faintly troubled.

"I get the bed tonight," Draco said firmly. "You had it last night."

"I'm not going on that sofa," Harry said equally firmly. "You're skinnier than me and even you fell off."

"I'm not skinny!" Draco said indignantly.

"You're practically a beanpole," Harry replied, jabbing Draco pointedly in the ribs, "and I, fortunately, am not, so me on the sofa is out of the question."

"Sleep in here then," Draco said.

"No, it's cold in here," Harry had a point, the living room, with it's French windows, was the coldest room in the flat.

"Anyone would think you were _trying_ to get into bed with me," Draco said slyly, knowing this would rile Harry.

"Don't flatter yourself," Harry snapped. "Look, you can stick to your side of the bed, and I'll stick to mine. Merlin knows it's big enough for the both of us." Before Draco could protest, he had walked out of the room and padded down the corridor. When Draco had caught up with him, Harry was pulling his shirt over his head, and the blond gritted his teeth against the sight of his rippling muscles and taut waist.

Words left him for the moment, so he set about disrobing, and, having pulled on some grey pyjamas, climbed into bed.

"Night," said Harry, clambering in next to him, careful to make sure that no part of them touched.

"Night," Draco said grumpily, a warm self-awareness creeping into his veins.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The morning dawned bright and clear over the city, the sharp rays of the sun bringing life to the grey world and relief to the heavy heart. The first people up and around were moving slowly through the quiet streets, reflecting on the stillness of the city at this hour, and the eeriness of seeing all the shops and bars closed.

Harry woke first, and realised, with some discomfort, that he and Draco had rolled closer to each other during the night. Draco was a tangle of pointed limbs and elbows, his arms crossed over his face and his knees tucked up to his chest. There was something ultimately defensive about his position, and Harry wondered if he always slept like that. Deciding that it was far to early to contemplate such matters, Harry yawned, slipped out of the bed, and went into the bathroom.

That night he had been beset by the broken fragments of his memories once more. He found that he was able to remember them with considerable ease, and the more he thought about them, the more clarity they gained, as though he was tapping into a well of knowledge harboured only by his future self.

He had dreamt of a time when he must have been in training as an Auror. He saw himself in some enormous tuition chamber, with Remus Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody all throwing hexes at him. Harry himself had been unarmed, and was using every fibre of his cunning to dance between the flashing darts of the spells, which ricocheted off the walls and ceiling. He had been trying to reach a goal, in this case a silver chalice, and he remembered vividly the moment when he touched it, turned around, and saw the others all smiling at him proudly. Harry didn't know if he had ever felt such elation.

He wondered why he had given up the life of an Auror when he was still so young and intact. All the Aurors he knew considered the career their vocation, and wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the profession if they still had a few years left in them. He had left, though, and taken up the undeniably muggle career of writing.

Come to think of it, a lot of his and Draco's life together smacked of muggles. Their flat on the very edge of the wizarding quarter, their abundance of muggle paraphernalia, the lack of anything distinctly magical about their lives. They still had their wands, of course. Harry didn't know about Draco, but his was not the one he remembered from his school days. His new one was much longer and heavier, made of some sleek, black wood with what seemed like a unicorn hair at the core. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to his first wand, and fervently hoped that his snatches of memory would give him some clues.

Harry could hear Draco stirring from the bathroom. The blond got up and rubbed his eyes, wincing against the harsh light of the world outside.

"I'm hungry," was the first thing he said. Harry splashed water on his face to wake himself up more, and walked out of the bathroom.

"I'll see what there is to eat," he said resignedly.

On inspection in the kitchen, it was revealed that there wasn't very much food in the house at all. Draco padded into the kitchen, his normally pristine hair rumpled and his eyes clouded with tiredness. He sat on the kitchen worktop, watching Harry rifle through the various cupboards.

"What is there?" he asked. "Bacon?" he added hopefully.

"Nope," Harry said. "We've got some mouldy cheese, some Tabasco, some peanut butter, and what looks suspiciously like a pineapple although it has been quite thoroughly squashed by something."

"Great," Draco muttered, "just what I wanted."

"Well how hungry are you?" Harry asked.

"Starving."

"Let's go buy breakfast somewhere, then," Harry said. "I think there's a Starbuck's round the corner." The expression of mild confusion on Draco's face was priceless.

*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour later, Harry and Draco were sitting in Starbuck's drinking hot coffee and eating pastries. Harry wondered how it was that Draco remained so slim even when he could quite easily polish off a Danish, a croissant, and a muffin in one sitting.

"What?" Draco asked, noticing Harry looking at him.

"Nothing," Harry sighed.

"Did you dream again last night?"

"Yeah," Harry took a sip of coffee, "you?"

"Travelling again," Draco said. "I think I was somewhere near Egypt, judging by the pyramids."

"You really get around, don't you?" Harry asked with a slight smile. Predictably, Draco swatted him on the arm.

"At least I was doing something with my life," he said, a glint in his eye.

"Hey," Harry protested, "I was doing something too, you know. I was in Auror training, passing with flying colours, I might add."

"So why aren't you an Auror now?" Draco asked.

"I don't know, do I?" said Harry, more snappishly than he'd intended. "Why aren't you still hunting dragons?"

"I feel as though I fulfilled all my life aims," Draco said haughtily.

"How would you know?" Harry asked. "You had one dream about dragons and you assume that you've fulfilled every ambition."

"I shall not dignify that with a response," Draco said, taking a sip of coffee.

"Technically you just did," Harry replied with a smile; Draco threw him a withering look.

"Do you have to be such an arse all the time?" he asked.

"What can I say?" Harry shrugged appealingly. "Force of habit." They sat quietly for a moment, watching the people walk past the windows, feeling strangely isolated in the mass of grey. Stiletto'd women clacked unsteadily, whilst men with leather briefcases glanced importantly at their watches, letting everyone know that they had somewhere to be. They were a sea of pinstriped suits, sombre expressions, drab colours and self-importance. Even the people in Starbuck's were all absorbed in their newspapers, their files from the office or their letters. They drank neat caffeine from paper cups, pretending they liked the taste, hoping this meant that they were living their life on the fast track.

Draco and Harry, like lone beacons of colour, brought a sense of peace and idleness to what was a bustling world. Draco picked unenthusiastically at a flake of pastry.

"I'm still hungry," he mused, and Harry looked up.

"And yet you're stick insect," he said. "I would have thought you'd be more careful about what you put in your mouth." Draco stared at him for a moment, looking mildly amused, while Harry cringed as he ran over what he just said. "I really just said that, didn't I?" he asked and Draco snickered.

"Yeah, you did," he said. "I would have thought you, of all people, know exactly what goes in my mouth." He glanced surreptitiously to Harry's groin to get his meaning across and Harry felt himself blush.

"Blond moment," he said, "my apologies."

"Why do you discriminate against blonds?" Draco asked in mock offence. "What have they ever done to you?"

"You, as a blond, have never missed an opportunity to hex me," Harry pointed out, "and I'm afraid you've prejudiced me against all of them."

"Fair enough," Draco said. "I'm just saying you shouldn't be so biased against blonds."

"I'm not," Harry said. "I'm biased against you."

"But I'm so pretty," Draco feigned a whining voice, and Harry smacked him on the side of the head with his newspaper.

"You're also in a weird mood," he said, finishing his drink.

"Forgive me for being cheerful," Draco said, "I would have thought a little optimism would be just what we needed in such a dilemma."

"Sorry," Harry said, without thinking, "I'm just tired." Draco mumbled something about sharing beds being uncomfortable but Harry ignored him. "We should go," he said. "There's a woman hopping up and down at the counter waiting for us to vacate these seats."

*~*~*~*~*~*

They hadn't been back for longer than ten minutes when, without warning, an enormous green fire shot up in the otherwise empty grate. Both Harry and Draco jumped in surprise as Hermione shot out of the fireplace and straightened up, brushing soot of her clothes.

"Hello," she said, slightly distractedly, "Still alive then?"

"Unfortunately," Harry said, rubbing a smudge of soot off Hermione's cheek. She looked at him sympathetically,

"Don't worry," she said. "I've come to see if you want to come with me to the library, maybe look for something that could help get you home."

"At last!" Draco said enthusiastically. "Let's go!"

"Hang on a minute," Hermione laughed. "I've just got here, let me get my breath back."

Draco looked impatient. "I just want to find a spell and get home," he said. "I dread to think of all the gossip I'm missing out on by being here."

"I could probably tell you all the major stuff," Hermione said. "In your time, has that Slytherin Morag MacDougal got pregnant yet?" The looks of surprised interest on both of their faces affirmed the negative.

"Er... _No_," Draco said. "So Maggie gets pregnant, eh? Tut, tut, she's only just sixteen."

"You might be missing that scandal," said Hermione, "but at least neither of you will be under suspicion of being the father. If I remember correctly, Mr MacDougal stormed up to the school and started hexing every boy that ever looked at her."  
"Who _is_ the father?" Draco asked curiously.

"Blaise Zabini, I think," said Hermione, thinking hard. "No-one was ever sure."

"Ha!" Draco rolled off the sofa in glee. "I knew he'd knock someone up before school ended!"

"Yeah, well," Hermione said, smiling, "it was quite the scandal for a while."

"Scandal is just gossip made tedious by morality," Draco said, his eyes still gleeful over the fates of his friends.

"I hope we don't miss too much work," Harry said, a worrying thought suddenly striking him.

"Yeah, you're not the sharpest tool in the shed," Draco said scathingly.

"I wouldn't worry," Hermione reassured them. "If we find something quickly enough, you should be able to return before long."

"I hope so," Harry said, sounding wistful. "The future is weird."

"So let's go," Draco said, getting to his feet again and pulling Hermione up.

"Ok," she said resignedly, allowing Draco to chivvy her over to the fireplace. She found a pot of glittering powder on the mantle-piece, flung a handful into the grate, stepped in and shouted, "Peterson Library!"

*~*~*~*~*~*

Hermione's library was absolutely huge.

She stood, waiting for them, as Harry and Draco shot out of the fireplace and stood up, coughing from the dust. They looked around and were immediately struck with a sense of awe.

"This is amazing," Harry breathed.

"This is better than the one at Malfoy Manor," said Draco, considerably impressed. "Way to go, Hermione."

"Glad you like it," Hermione was beaming, and it was evident that this room was her pride and joy. It was formed on two levels, with sweeping wooden stairs leading up to the next tier, which overlooked them, books densely packed onto shelves. On the lower level was a desk, two armchairs, and a bearskin rug, all surrounded by thousands of books, piled onto shelves and into bookcases. They spilled over tables, were stacked in untidy heaps on the floor, and were scattered around the room, there clearly being too many to accommodate with shelves.

The entire room smelt of learning. It wasn't just the books, Hermione had globes, a collection of ancient swords hanging on the wall, tapestries depicting the constellations at night, and on the desk sat a skull wearing a top hat. The windows were high, gothic arches and they opened out to reveal a wide lawn finishing in a lake.

"Where are we?" Harry asked. "I thought you said you lived a couple of streets from us. This is definitely not Manchester."

"No," Hermione said, "it's Oxford. Sean and I have a country house which he inherited last year, but I only ever really come here for the library."

"It's beautiful," Draco said, examining the collection of swords. "Some of these are really rare."

"Sean has a passion for them," Hermione shrugged. "He's been gathering them for years."

"I'm sure we'll find something here," Harry said, his heart rising with certainty. "There are so many books, it would be impossible not to."  
"I brought down a couple which might be useful." Hermione motioned to the pile on the floor. Harry noticed titles like_ Moste Potente Potions_, and _Liber de Proprietatibus Rerum_. He moved over to them and picked up a book at random.

"What are we looking for exactly?" he asked.

"Something related to the Pertho Draught," said Draco, "or any divination potion involving runes. There must be something about a reversal somewhere."

"Do you want to go up there?" Hermione pointed to the upper level. "There are lots of potions books on the back shelf. Harry and I will go through this pile."

"Ok," with a sense of determination, Draco made his way up the wooden stairs, pulled a book at random off the shelf, and sat against the wall with it in his lap.

"Do you really think there'll be an antidote of sorts?" Harry asked Hermione in an undertone.

"I think so," she said, her brow furrowed. "I'm sure that we'll find something that will enable you to switch bodies again."

"Do you think our future selves are awake in our past bodies?" Harry asked curiously.

"I shouldn't think so," said Hermione, "I've studied some of the related potions, and it's more than likely that you will be trapped in some enchanted sleep."

"Like a coma?" Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Similar," Hermione looked up and smiled. "Don't worry, Professor Snape will have realised what's happened," she said. "He'll stave off Madam Pomfrey."

"It's not that..." Harry said, looking troubled. "I just don't like the idea of skipping a chunk out of school because I'm asleep."

"You've only spent a couple of days here," Hermione reminded him.

"It seems like much longer."

"How are you getting on?" Hermione asked. "I know there hasn't really been time to fill you in on everything you should know, but you seem to be doing ok."

"It's exhausting," Harry said, flicking through the crumbly pages of a book. "It's so draining just trying to remember everything, and be someone I'm not."

"But this is who you _are_," Hermione said, her eyes sweeping over him in her patented searching gaze. "This is who you grow to be."

"It's such a surprise," Harry commented, "I would never have pictured this to be my life."

"You mean Draco?" Hermione glanced up at the blond, who hadn't been listening.

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said. "I just can't understand it."

"I suppose the intensity was always there," Hermione said sagely, "even when we were at school, it was Draco's insults that always got under your skin, Draco who always provoked you, Draco who made school interesting."

"_Voldemort_ makes school interesting," Harry replied with a sigh. "Draco is just a pest."

"But he's one you can't ignore," Hermione pointed out, shoving Harry in the shoulder.

"As much as I try," Harry said.

"He's changed a lot since school," said Hermione.

"Hmm," Harry said, looking up at Draco. "He's got prettier, and less pointy."

"Been studying him a lot, have you?" Hermione asked with a twinkle in her eye. Harry flushed for some unknown reason.

"No," he said quickly, "but it's just obvious." Hermione's smile was maddening, and Harry looked at her witheringly. "Stop that," he said. "We're the teenagers that hate each other, remember?"

"I know the adults," Hermione said, "and any hatred between you two vanished years ago."

"Talking about me?" Harry spun his head round so fast it almost cricked. Draco was standing behind him, looking smug about something.

"Yeah," Harry said, turning back to his book, feeling his face heat up.

"I wondered if you had the companion book to this?" He held up a dusty tome called _'Ethnobotany: What it is and how you can make it work for you'._

"It's on the second shelf," Hermione said, pointing over Harry's shoulder. Draco flashed her a smile and went to look.

"Let's change the subject," Harry said, looking down at the book he had been thumbing through. The pages were cracked, and very old. He could see why Hermione thought it might be useful, the spells and recipes inside it were all related to runes and their uses. His eyes skimmed over a drawing inked in blood red, depicting a woman with spiders crawling out of her mouth, apparently one of the effects of the dreaded _Arachnia Serum._

Harry sighed. "This is going to be a really long day."

Research had never been his strong point, which was one of the reasons he had valued Hermione so much, and he did not relish the idea of spending hours poring over volume after volume of tedious text. He didn't share Hermione's passion for ancient books, or for potions that had been banned since the goblin rights legislation had been passed. 

Only the knowledge that something he found might help send them home was enough to drive Harry to coax his tired eyes into working, and force his brain into concentration. All he could think as he scanned each page was, _there'll be something in the next one, a potion to send us home, it'll be in the next one._

It wasn't though. Harry's hands turned over hundreds of spells for everything imaginable, but there was very little that looked like it might be useful, and very little that actually looked legal.

"Where did you get some of this stuff?" Harry asked, looking at yet another graphic picture. "There is no way these spells are still in operation."

"They're interesting," Hermione said, shrugging, and threw down the book she was holding. "This is the last one," she sighed, and looked around the rest of the library. "Don't get disheartened," she added, "there're over four thousand books here. These are just the ones I thought might be useful." She nodded towards Draco. "Go see if he's found anything."

Harry uncoiled himself from his uncomfortable position on the floor and stretched like a cat. His legs felt uncomfortably cramped, and his muscles had seized up from sitting still for so long. He had kicked off his shoes an hour ago, and now padded softly up the stairs.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, jerking Draco out of his reverie. He was sitting on a rug, leaning against a wall, a massive book resting on his knees.

"You gave me a fright, Potter," he said, scowling. Evidently he disliked research as much as Harry did.

"Sorry," Harry knelt down beside him and peered at the page he was studying, "anything here?" he asked.

"Nope," Draco yawned, "and I've gone through more books than I care to think about. I am going to die a book-related death, I can feel it. If I ever see a potion to grow nose hair again, it'll be too soon."

"Who on earth would want to do that?" Harry asked, lifting the heavy book off Draco's lap and closing it.

"I think we should call it a day," he said, and Draco looked at him with something akin to gratitude.

"Ok," he said, and they stood up.

"Hermione?" Harry called. "Can we come back tomorrow? We're beat." Hermione looked up from where she was sitting.

"Sure," she said, and glanced at her watch. "I've got to go to work in a bit, anyway."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked curiously, as they descended the stairs.

"The Ministry," Hermione said. "I work in the Spell Development Office." Draco looked suddenly interested.

"My father worked there for a while," he said.

"I know," replied Hermione with a hint of sadness. "It's where he developed his own variety of Dark Curse." Draco looked away.

"Let's go," Harry said, propelling Draco forward to the fireplace. "We'll come back tomorrow and keep looking."

"That's fine," said Hermione. "Come whenever you want. Just don't make a mess."

"Thanks," Harry couldn't keep a note of disappointment from his voice. How long would it take to find a spell to send them home? He had hoped to come across something today, but he could find no reference to the Pertho Draught or any possible reversal. Picking up a handful of glittering floo powder, he dropped it into the fireplace, stepped into the emerald flame, and shouted,

"Flat 309, Deansgate."

The library dissolved before his eyes. He could feel Draco next to him, the blond brushing against his arm as they were hurtled through the floo network. Tentatively, Harry slipped an arm around his waist.


	6. The Odd Couple

****

My sincerest thanks go to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. I am very grateful to all of you. I'm afraid I can't keep track of each update notification personally, but if you so wish you can add me to your Author Alerts or follow my LiveJournal, the link to which is in my bio.

Chapter 6: The Odd Couple

Never support two weaknesses at a time. It's your combination sinners - your lecherous liars and your miserly drunkards - who dishonour the vices and bring them into disrepute - Thornton Wilder

is when they're running you out of town and you make it look like you're leading a parade - William Battie

That day set a pattern that was to be often repeated. Now that the initial shock of their transition had worn off, Draco and Harry were able to throw themselves into the all-important task of finding a spell to send them back to their own time. They had searched in vain for a copy of the spell book they had been using the day their potion exploded, with little luck. Nobody seemed to know the whereabouts of Professor Snape, either, who had entered into the vocational path of being an Unspeakable and seemingly vanished into the ether. The nightly social outings ceased after the first couple of days, as the working week started and the rest of their friends went back to their jobs.

Harry and Draco then had the day to do as they pleased. Harry understood that he was taking a break from his career as a writer to contemplate new projects, and Draco had yet to learn about any job he might have. Not that the lack of a vocation bothered him. He had never been one to enjoy hard work, and was rather relieved that his future self didn't have a job that required him to abandon his occupation of professional laziness.

It did leave them with the problem of enforced company, and the tension that seemed to arise between them whenever they were left alone soon reached breaking point, and the sparking of several arguments. Every time Harry considered the feelings his future self had for Draco, he couldn't help but be baffled by it. He could not understand how he could find the slim, annoying blond to be anything but slim and annoying, and after the first few arguments was determined that somewhere along the line he had taken several bludgers to the head. 

He was ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that spoke of Draco's peculiar attractiveness in the right light, the soft arctic grey of his eyes, and the way he smiled slightly when he was feeling pensive. Aesthetic values aside, any warmth towards Draco soon dissipated the moment the Slytherin opened his mouth. They seemed incapable of agreeing on anything, and taking a trip to the supermarket had proved so stressful that Harry had merely spelled in vast amounts of food using his new wand.

It was very different from the one he was used to. The added length of the shaft meant he had to compensate when performing even the simplest spells, and it was a pleasant surprise to find that this wand was much more powerful than the last. He could almost feel it vibrating when he touched it, and the strength of magic flowing through it was enough to send sparks from the tip. The first time he had tried a levitation charm with it, the vase he had been lifting had hurtled to the ceiling with the merest flick and smashed, showering them with glass.

Draco had been really pissed off that day.

Spending every day together had proved a strain on what was already only a scar of a relationship. Some nights they slept on opposite sides of the same bed, and some nights one of them took the sofa, just to get some privacy. It was around the fifth morning when Harry woke with Draco's foot in his ribs, and the third of many quarrels was started. 

The trips to Hermione's library were a godsend, as they offered an excuse to sit for hours in silence, whilst they searched in vain for a spell, a potion, anything.

Both Harry and Draco had tried spells to make their search go faster, but with only a sixth year's knowledge of magic, their incantations were horribly vague, acting much like a Google search with only one keyword. The piles of books they had pored over increased by the day, and Harry would find his attention wandering after yet more hours of sitting on a dusty floor, his nose buried in some nameless tome. When the light began to dim, they would come to an unspoken agreement to go home, the silence becoming as much a necessary part of their communication as speech.

Both acted as if the other was something of a guest in their own world, both unwilling to entertain the possibility that complete indifference to each other was a lie to themselves. Acting in such a forced manner, if only to deflect more arguing, created a sense of frustration, as if there was something bubbling beneath the surface, aching to be freed. Never in their acquaintance had Harry and Draco been indifferent to each other. They had fought, they had rowed and they had kissed, but apathy had never been an issue.

Now, though, it seemed the only way to continue living together without killing each other. Apathy, it seemed, was beneficial in some ways. Without consciousness of the constant irritation, both Harry and Draco were able to appreciate the side to their former enemy that they had never seen before. Living on top of each other brought with it the unhelpful lack of privacy, and nothing could be hidden. Whilst this often proved mortifying, Harry also found it a way to get to know a side of Draco that he had never experienced. He learned about his habits, and daily rituals, the careful consideration with which he went about his business, and the intense thought that he put into everything he did. It was a new way of looking at the world, and Harry found his mannerisms fascinating.

Draco too was able to observe a Harry he had never known. He was more discreet in his watchfulness, but was still struck by the same interest as he surveyed Harry's quiet way of getting on with things, his appealing sense of recklessness, and his complete disregard for all decorum. It was a manner so different to the way Draco had been taught to behave, that it became a point of idle interest, if only for the lack of any more worthwhile entertainment.

Two weeks passed in this way, marked by their tension and forced tolerance. Each morning they would floo over to Hermione's library and spend hours searching through every book they could lay their hands on, and as evening drew near, they would depart, safe in the knowledge they had eliminated more that was useless to them, thus narrowing their search.

Something Harry didn't quite understand was why Hermione didn't remember any of this if it had happened in the past. His head hurt whenever he tried to get his mind around the concept of time travel and Hermione's look darkened whenever he voiced his query.

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I don't understand it. Technically this happened in the past."

"Right."

"So I should have some memory of it, it's not like I'm going to forget something like this."

"Right."

"The only plausible explanation I could possibly give would skim the realms of muggle science," she said. Harry braced himself accordingly. "Every outcome of chance in this universe is based on a quantum leap, an electron spin."

"I'm with you so far," Harry replied.

"It was an electron spin that determined which rose petals you poured into that potion, but somewhere along the line, a single result of a chance was altered, thus changing history as we know it."

"That doesn't explain why you have no memory of it." Harry looked troubled. Hermione triumphantly slammed the book she was holding down on the table, almost asphyxiating Draco in a cloud of dust.

"That's exactly why I think there's some Dark Magic involved!" she exclaimed, punctuated by Draco's hacking coughs. "Your fate was changed by something or someone, but that same something or someone has stopped the rest of us from being part of that change. We are still walking the paths that we have always done, but you two have been turned off yours and put on another one."

"Is that an analogy?" Harry asked, rubbing his temples. Hermione nodded.

"Who would have done this?" Draco asked.

"Any number of Death Eaters," Hermione replied darkly. "You both gave so much evidence at various trials that it would be easier to count the number of hit lists you aren't top of."

"But why go to so much trouble?" Harry asked. "Why not just time travel themselves back to when we were babies and finish us both of quickly, thus supremely fucking with history and obliterating our existences?"

"Because travelling backwards in time is much more difficult than travelling forwards," Hermione said at once. "It's possible," she added quickly, seeing their jaws drop with horror, "but even muggles can travel forwards in time, but we have reason to believe that they will never in the future learn how to travel back."

"Muggles can time travel?"

"Of a fashion," Hermione said. "If they were to fly in a space ship close to the speed of light, when they returned to earth, they would have hardly aged but everyone they knew would be long dead."

"Why do you think they'll never find a way to come back in time?"

"Because no muggles from the future have ever visited this time to our knowledge," Hermione said solemnly. "Apart from Shakespeare and Elvis, but they were later proved to be wizards pretending to be muggles."

After returning from the library, Harry sank down on the sofa, and held one hand to his throbbing temples.

"I'm exhausted," he said, "and we've got to go to Ron's dinner party tonight." Draco groaned.

"Can't we skip it?" he asked.

"No," Harry shook his head then regretted it, "it's his birthday, we can't miss it."

"Great," Draco said sarcastically, and sat down next to Harry. "I suppose we'll have to play the roles of loving couple again?"

"Yep," Harry said with a mock cheerfulness.

"This day just gets better and better." Harry stifled a smile at the complete contempt in Draco's voice. He was useless at hiding his disdain for the Weasleys, and still considered Ron as far beneath him as ever.

The afternoon was growing old, and the first stars were peeking through the azure blue sky. Outside it was cold, and night wasn't too far off. They had spent the morning going through yet more volumes, with little luck. Draco had earmarked a few pages which he thought might be useful, but even he wasn't hopeful.

"I think with enough time I might be able to form a potion of my own," he said suddenly, "with Hermione's help. I mean, she works in the Department for Spell Development, she must be useful."

"You think you could do that?" Harry looked up hopefully.

"Possibly," Draco said, looking uncertain, "but only as a last resort. It would take a while."

"How long?"

"Two months, maybe three to calibrate the correct energies and build their strength."

"Three months?!" Harry looked aghast.

"I _said_ as a last resort, Potter." Draco scowled.

"I can't wait that long," said Harry, feeling his shoulders gingerly, where all the muscles had knotted up.

"You're so tense," Draco commented. "No wonder you're always kicking off at someone at school." Harry shot him a scathing look, and he desisted.

"Well you don't look the picture of relaxation yourself, Malfoy," Harry said, massaging his shoulders.

"Nonsense," Draco replied. "I know exactly how to relax." With those words he got up and walked into the next room. Harry, intrigued for a moment, followed him reluctantly to see where he had gone.

He walked into their white sitting room, and leaned against the door, watching Draco sit at the glossy, black grand piano.

"You play?" Harry asked, and Draco nodded.

"Since I was a child." He flipped open the lid and ran his fingers lovingly over the ebony and ivory keys. Harry watched his hands avidly, they were so long and slender, tapering to a delicate nail, and looking for all the world like porcelain.

"Go on then," he said softly. "Let's hear you." Draco's fingers paused over the notes for a moment before he pressed them down and let them dance over the keys, moving a rhythmic, and well studied pattern. The tinkling of the notes produced a beautiful melody that twisted and spun in the air, creating a feeling of listlessness. Draco was a very fine pianist, and the song from his fingers echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating eerily in Harry's ears. There was a soothing, more peaceful ambiance created by the music, that did much to negate the air of hostility that so often lingered between them. The feelings of enmity were softened to the degree that the comfort that could be gleaned from each other's presence was forced to the surface, and taken notice of.

Without knowing what he was doing, Harry moved forward to where Draco was sitting, and placed his hands lightly on his shoulders. The note Draco struck quivered for a moment, before he let his hands rest, and a thundering stillness filled the room in the place of the music. The touch of Harry's hands sent a ripple through him, and his stomach clenched hollowly. This was not something he had been expecting, and a sudden flash of intimacy was not something he knew how to deal with. Harry, though, broke all the rules when it came to relationships, platonic or otherwise.

He leaned down close so his lips were brushing Draco's ear, and he said in his deep, gravelly voice,

"We'd better get changed. We'll have to leave before long." And he was gone.

Harry dressed very carefully for that evening. The extent of his wardrobe still managed to astonish him even if he felt at something of a loss when faced with it. He picked out a pair of dark jeans- Ron had told him to be casual -and teamed it with a black shirt and a pinstripe black blazer. His choice of silver jewellery complemented the outfit perfectly, and even his unruly mess of black hair seemed to shine like liquid jet around his cheekbones.

Draco had been made speechless when Harry had gone back into the kitchen. He could tell the blond was impressed by the look on his face, and it was with some gratification that he felt his eyes rake over his body, drinking in the sight of him.

"You like it?" Harry asked with a wry smile as Draco's eyes rose long enough to meet his. Draco seemed to snap back to reality.

"You'll do," he said, but Harry was sure he caught a glimpse of a smile before Draco went to get changed himself.

Whilst the blond had commandeered the bedroom and went about his ablutions, Harry felt the familiar nerves that he always felt before he went out to meet his friends. There was always the worry that he would do or say something stupid, or that he or Draco would blow their cover and they would be rendered even more vulnerable than they were already. Feeling restive and edgy, Harry spelled himself a bottle of wine, and sat down, watching the TV.

Draco reappeared some minutes later, and Harry was once again struck by the elegance that he seemed to be able to inject into even the most mundane outfit. The outfit tonight was anything but mundane, and Draco had dressed in a loose fitting pair of grey trousers, a tight long sleeved black sweater and the same leather jacket he had worn on his first night there.

"You look great," Harry breathed without thinking, and Draco grinned, looking more than a little smug.

"I know," he said. "The bathroom mirror told me."

"That mirror's bloody annoying. It told me I looked like I had a bird nesting in my hair yesterday," Harry said with a glower.

Draco sat next to him and ruffled his hair thoughtfully. "It had a point," he said. "What are you drinking?"

Harry looked at the label on the bottle of wine.

"Château Siaurac 2000," he replied, pouring Draco some. With the intense focus of a true connoisseur, Draco held the glad to his nose, breathed it deeply, before taking a small sip. Harry grinned. "You look like you could come just from drinking that," he said.

"I'll have you know that this is a very fine wine," Draco said. "Not the best, but then I wouldn't expect you to conjure anything spectacular." Harry didn't even bother looking affronted.

"What's so great about it?" he asked.

"Well it's from the right bank of the Gironde river in France," Draco said, looking at the ornate label on the bottle, "in the _Lalande de Pomerol_ region, which is a part of Pomerol. Wines made on this side of the river tend to have a higher proportion of Merlot as opposed to Cabernet Sauvignon, meaning they had a much more full-bodied, fruity quality. They also mature earlier than those made on the left bank, which is why the 2000 would be particularly good in this time." He took another sip and paused to enjoy Harry's look of surprise.

"Why am I not shocked that you seem to know everything about wine?" he asked.

"I've been drinking this stuff for years," Draco said, "whilst you plebeians were all drinking Butterbeer."

"What's wrong with Butterbeer?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"It's just so low-," Draco replied, fixing him with a look that spoke volumes.

"You know we've been invited to stay at Ron's until tomorrow, don't you?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering what Ron had told him a few days ago.

"Fanfuckingtastic," Draco said.

"That's the spirit," Harry replied absentmindedly. "So do you want to get your wand? Save taking any stuff for tomorrow." 

"Good idea," Draco uncoiled himself from the sofa and retreated into the other room. Harry could hear him moving around in there.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked after a minute, looking at the bit of paper Hermione had written Ron's address on.

"Yeah," Draco called from the other room, "one moment." He came back with a little, navy blue box in his hands, and his wand in his pocket.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Cufflinks," said Draco, opening it and displaying a pair of square, onyx cufflinks. The word 'Prada' was embossed across them in silver.

"They're lovely," Harry commented, "but you're not wearing a shirt."

"I know I'm not, you dolt," Draco rolled his eyes, "but you are." Harry looked confused.

"Those aren't mine," he said, poking the box.

"No, they're mine," Draco replied, taking the cufflinks out and encircling Harry's wrist with his hand. "I saw them in my wardrobe and thought they'd look good on you." Harry didn't know what to say. He let Draco fasten the cufflinks in his shirt sleeves, and admired them as they flashed in the dim light of the living room.

"Thanks," Harry said, his skin mourning the loss of Draco's touch. It had been so long since he had been touched like that.

"Ready then?" Draco said, looking faintly pleased with himself.

"As I'll ever be," Harry replied, and picked up and handful of floo powder. "No. 13, Weasley Hollow," he said, and stepped into the flame.

As soon as they climbed out of the fireplace at the other end, they were hit by a barrage of noise. There seemed to be an awful number of people in the spacious living room, and they were all laughing and talking, with music blaring over the magical speakers.

Harry felt a twinge of nervousness as he pulled Draco to his feet and looked around. Everyone was sitting down, glasses in hands, faces alight with happiness. They had only been there a couple of seconds before Ron himself came bounding over, alive with an infectious energy.

"Hey!" he said excitedly. "You made it!"

"Happy Birthday!" Harry found himself pulled into a warm hug, and Draco had his hand pumped up and down enthusiastically. Ron was suddenly distracted by the arrival of Lavender, dressed in a flowery pink dress, who dragged her fiancé away before he could complete his greeting.

"Let's go through," Draco said, motioning towards the next room where there were fewer people. "I think Weasley just broke all my fingers." Harry sniggered and, slipping into his fashioned role, put his hands on Draco's waist from behind, resting his chin on the blond's shoulder.

"You look bored already," He said, feeling Draco lean back into him instinctively.

"I'm spending the night with the Weasel," Draco said, as if that were the only explanation he could give.

"Try to be good?" Harry asked, nipping playfully at the delicate shell of Draco's ear.

"Only if you stop biting me," Draco said, but his tone of voice left Harry in no doubt that he didn't mind at all. There was something vaguely exhilarating about so intimate a gesture that was unnoticed and even expected here. Harry felt himself slipping seamlessly into his alter ego, this separate person that bore no relation to his true self. He wondered idly if these two facets of himself were merging into one and stopped questioning where his past self ended and his future self began.

"Ah but it's my prerogative," Harry said quietly, "as your 'boyfriend'." The gentle cadence of the last word made Draco stiffen ever so slightly.

"I may be having to pretend you're my boyfriend," Draco said, and Harry could hear the smirk in his voice, "but that doesn't mean you can view me as a snack." He was rewarded by another nip to the ear, and tried to bat Harry off light-heartedly.

"Everyone else is through here," Ron said, returning and steering them towards the kitchen. "You guys know Andy, Marcus, Lisa, Kara and Tiffany, don't you?"

Harry gave a forced smile, but was spared from answering by the man Ron had named Marcus.

"Yeah, we met at the Christmas party last year," he said, shaking Harry and Draco's hands. "Nice to see you again."

"You too," Harry said, relieved. He was even more relieved to see Hermione wending her way towards them dressed in a very pretty set of pale blue robes that opened to reveal a matching dress.

"Hi," she said.

"I didn't realise there'd be so many people here," Draco said, looking around.

"Don't worry," Hermione reassured them, "only a few of Ron's closer friends are staying for the dinner party, some more just dropped by for a drink."

A loud explosion turned their attention back to the room they had just exited. A cloud of greenish smoke was obscuring two figures, who had evidently just done something spectacular, as the people in the room were laughing and clapping.

"What the...?" Harry was going to ask, before he recognized the two figures. "Is that Fred and George?" he asked, excitedly.

"Yep," Hermione replied. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is still a big hit. They have outlets in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and Thaumgate, the Manchester Wizarding Quarter. They've made quite a bit of money between them." Harry would have been able to guess that just by their appearance. Fred and George were dressed alike in robes made of the finest silk, with ostentatious gold brooches fastening their cloaks at their throats. They were waving their wands and obviously giving the guests a demonstration of their merchandise.

"What _are_ they doing?" Ron asked, peering at his brothers.

"Looks like they're letting off some of their patented indoor fireworks," said Hermione with a smile.

"Oh for God's sake," Ron said. "Won't they ever grow up?" He stalked out of the kitchen. Draco, meanwhile, was eyeing up the selection of alcohol interestedly, and in the process of pouring himself and Harry a glass of wine.

"Drink that and get some culture," he said, passing Harry his glass. After Harry had taken a sip and Draco had declared himself satisfied, the two tumbling balls of energy that were the Weasley twins came into the kitchen. Their appearances had changed very little, and they were still the spitting image of each other. If it hadn't been for the intricately worked 'G' and 'F' on their brooches, Harry wouldn't have been able to tell them apart.

"Harry!" they shouted with one voice.

"Hi," Harry said, grinning,

"We hope you..." Fred said,

"...and your beautiful girlfriend," George continued, with a wicked grin at Draco, who scowled darkly.

"Have a good time tonight" they finished.

"Quite the double act," Draco remarked before having his hand shaken once more by both twins.

"Thank-you…" George said.

"We've been perfecting it…" Fred said.

"All night long actually…" George said.  
"We're hoping to embarrass Ron later," Fred said. "We worry he's becoming impervious to our antics."

"I'm sure he'll be ecstatic," Harry said. "What were you doing, by the way?"

"Just demonstrating our fabulous..."

"...far-fetched..."

"…frambunctious…"

"…funlicious…"

"...fucking fantastic fireworks!" they said triumphantly.

"Bring the life to any party, for only seven galleons!"

"Maybe later," Draco said quickly, before tugging on Harry's hand to get them out of the vicinity of the twins.

"They exhaust me," Harry said, as they wandered back into the living room.

"You?" Draco asked. "At least you like them."

"I thought you were going to be good."

"Oh I am being good, Potter, I assure you," Draco said, sitting down. "I'm resisting all homicidal urges thus far."

"Thank you for doing this," Harry said, "and not blowing our cover."

"Yeah, well," Draco said. "I don't want to get found out either, so it's for entirely selfish reasons." Harry didn't reply, but he knew that Draco was here because it meant a lot to _him_, and he was very grateful. Luckily there were sufficient people in the room to ensure they weren't forced to make small talk with people they couldn't recognize. They were able to seclude themselves in a corner of the room, taking advantage of Ron's excellent wine, and talking quietly to each other. The absorption with which they conversed, a quality born of so much time in each other's company, made everyone think of them as two lovers who wanted to be alone. Which was, of course, the image they were eager to portray.

After half an hour or so, most of the people were leaving, either by disapparating, or by floo powder. Harry couldn't deny that he was glad, an evening with their close friends was as much as he could be expected to cope with. 

He and Draco made their way into the dining room with Hermione and Ginny. The table was lit by dozens of magical candles, their flames glimmering in a delicate lilac, and giving off no heat.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said, taking a seat which had a fairy on the placemat, singing her name in a shrill, keening voice.

"Way to go, Ron," said Sean, taking his place beside Hermione. "This looks great." everyone else heartily assented, before they took their seats around the large table. There weren't many people there that Harry felt uneasy about being around. Guests for dinner included him, Draco, Hermione, Sean, Ginny, the twins, Seamus, two girls Harry didn't know, Marcus, Andy and the woman Ron had introduced as Kara. They were all talking animatedly, the candles casting a pale glow over their faces and a flush rising to their cheeks from the wine.

Harry and Draco were sitting next to each other, flanked by Sean and Ginny. There was hardly enough room around the table for all of them, but this was treated as a point of humour, and there was something faintly comforting about being crushed around the table with so many agreeable people, all laughing as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Harry slowly began to relax.

He could feel Draco doing the same, and listened contentedly as Draco and Sean chatted about all things sartorial, wondering if both of them knew just how gay they sounded.

Sean turned suddenly to listen to something Hermione said, and his attentiveness to her made Harry long for something like that. Someone to listen to and to enjoy their silences. He supposed the adult in him was crying out for something other than a quick shag behind the Quidditch shed.

"What are you looking so miserable about?" Draco asked, flicking Harry's chin to jerk him from is reverie.

"I love your sense of tact," Harry said sarcastically, even though his voice was light and his lips were smiling.

"You looked like that publishing cheque just bounced," Draco said, before his eyes widened. "It didn't, did it?"

"No," Harry laughed. "Stop being so mercenary!"

"Force of habit," Draco said. "At least you're looking less fed-up."

"I'm not fed-up," Harry said. "I just wish Hermione and Sean weren't such a bloody perfect couple."

"People might think we're the perfect couple," Draco pointed out. "I mean, look at us, we're gorgeous." Harry wondered if anyone with less confidence and assurance of his own beauty as Draco would have been able to carry off such an immodest statement.

"I can't see us writing romantic poetry or uttering words of eternal devotion to each other," Harry said, somewhat moodily. "Can you?"

"That's what you want out of life?" Draco looked aghast. "You should be shagging a Hufflepuff." He looked faintly amused.

"Thanks for that," Harry said, "and no, I'm not saying it's not what I want."

"Couples don't have to be sweet and fluffy," Draco said, taking another sip of wine. "Otherwise we'd have been doomed years ago."

"Hmm," Harry said, and he felt that pang again. The thought that he and Draco might not have the deep relationship he had always hoped to end up with.

"Oh stop looking so dismal," Draco said, scooting a bit closer to Harry to make room for George on his other side. "I'm sure you aren't with me for my skill at poetry." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"I wouldn't know," he said. "I've never heard your poetry."

"That's because I'm crap," Draco said simply, "and I wouldn't know poetry if it bit me in the arse." Harry's tongue flicked out over his lips for a moment, moistening it, and he noticed with a flash of surprise that Draco's eyes followed it avidly. "What I'm saying," Draco went on, momentarily distracted, "is that I bet we both have other-talents," his eyes darted shamelessly to Harry's crotch, "that more than make up for the lack of sap and pink hearts. I absolutely despise pink." Harry flushed, not used to seeing Draco so predatory and wondering why his body was reacting in so traitorous a manner.

"I'm sure," he said, and this time it was his eyes that moved to rest upon Draco's soft mouth. He remembered exactly what it tasted like, and wondered if he would ever get to taste it again. Draco seemed to know exactly what to do to set Harry's pulse racing. He bit his lip sensually, and moved close enough to Harry to allow his breath to ghost over his face.

Suddenly the other people in the room were of no importance whatsoever. Draco rested his arm on Harry's knee, a most casual gesture to all but themselves. Harry had to keep reminding himself that Draco would be doing this all for show, and that there was no real meaning behind it. Draco was probably a little tipsy from the copious amounts of wine he had drunk. That was the only reason, surely.

This thought didn't make it any easier to maintain control when Draco's fingers began to move backwards and forwards, tracing Harry's inner thigh and sending blood to the most unfortunate of places.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked suddenly, and for a moment he was gratified to see Draco looking faintly surprised.

There was a pause in which their eyes met and Draco looked at him steadily. "Curiosity," he said at last and with perfect honesty. "I want to know what all the fuss is about." Harry didn't need any further encouragement. He swiftly bridged the gap between his and Draco's lips, his hand snaking to grasp the back of the blond's head, holding him in place while their mouths met hungrily.

Draco was wonderfully warm against him, and he bit down on Harry's lower lip gently, mingling a delicious pain with the pleasure and forcing Harry to stifle a groan at the back of his throat. Harry, mindful of the people around them, moved his hand surreptitiously, to rest as close to Draco's groin as was courteous to do at someone else's house.

The blond pulled back suddenly. "We should continue this later," he said, motioning to where Ron was coming in, laden with plates. Harry nodded, touching his lips gingerly, and moving his hand from Draco's thigh. Draco glanced up at Harry for a moment before capturing his lips once more in the briefest kiss, whilst Harry squeezed Draco's hand and laid it on the table, hoping fervently that such intimate exploration could be resumed later.

Composing themselves, they turned to their host and gave their attention to the party.

Ron turned out to be a very fine cook, and had prepared a meal fit for any number of kings. Harry wondered if his friend had a house elf, as he had never pictured cooking to be one of Ron's strong points. He did not voice he curiosity, though, and there was a brief silence as everyone tucked in, before exclaiming over the quality of the food in delight.

The atmosphere in the room was warm and vibrant, with no unease and with much laughter as more and more glasses of wine were poured out among the company. Harry watched with amusement as either Fred or George Weasley tried to flirt with one of the unknown girls without realising that they had a piece of radish stuck to their goatee. Hermione and Sean were poking fun at each other in a quick, witty fashion, and everyone else around the table seemed to be talking animatedly.

"This is delicious, Ron," Ginny said after a while. She had swept her hair up above her head and secured it with a jewelled clasp. She looked very pretty, and Seamus was eyeing her beadily.

"Did you cook it yourself?" Harry asked, as Ron beamed at them.

"Of course," he said, as if the question had mortally offended him. "It's all natural, and home-cooked."

"Oh no," Sean looked despairing. "I'm trying to stay away from natural foods, at my age I need all the preservatives I can get." Harry laughed.

"I think this warrants a toast," Draco said, who, either from intoxication or his brief grope with Harry, was being remarkably amiable, "for cooking us this delightful meal, for acting the perfect host, and for bitching and moaning for twenty-six glorious years. I think I speak for everyone when I say that I've had a wonderful evening - but this wasn't it." Everyone burst out laughing, including Ron, for there was no hint of malice in Draco's voice.

"Why, you little prick!" he exclaimed.

"You love me really, Weasley, just admit it," Draco snickered, resting his chin on his hand. The entire effect was highly appealing.

"Do I look like Harry?" Ron asked, flicking Harry a wry look.

"Unfortunately not," Draco said, also glancing up at Harry, "but give me five minutes with you and a bottle of hair dye, I think we could make you look passable." Ron feigned an affronted expression.

"You can never beat a natural brunette," Harry said, running his fingers through his hair in what he engineered to be a pretentious way.

"Harry, mate, I hate to say this, but you're as gay as it gets," Sean said from Harry's left.

Draco smiled at Harry. "He's got a point," he said.

"Bit rich coming from you," Harry exclaimed, jabbing the more effeminate Draco in the arm, "how long did it take you to get dressed this evening?" he asked.

"When will people lay off my completely healthy interest in clothes?" Draco grumbled, examining it in the blade of a knife. "There's nothing remotely strange about it, it's not effeminate in any way and I consider it a perfectly manly pastime, thankyouverymuch."

"It's an all-consuming preoccupation," Harry grinned, leaned over and tousled Draco's hair until it was sexily messy. "Ponce," he said.

"Cretin," Draco replied, without missing a beat, "when it comes to my appearance I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best."

"I think we've all established that Draco has an unhealthy obsession with his appearance," Hermione said, looking fondly at Draco, "But I have to say that you're quite as gay as Harry is."

"We had gay burglars the other night," George said nonchalantly from the other end of the table, "They broke in and rearranged all the furniture. Our rooms are now 'fabulous'." everyone laughed, but both Harry and Draco managed to look a bit affronted.

"Any further disparaging discussion of homosexuality will be quite enough reason for us to hex you," Harry said primly. "Thank you."

"Like you did when one of us inadvertently pointed out the fact that your jumper was inside out?" Ginny turned to Hermione, who was rendered speechless.

"I was having a bad day," she said, with a righteous air.

"Oh, sorry," Ginny snickered. "That perfectly merits spelling Fred's mouth shut for an hour."

"If she's got a wand and/or PMT, I'm not getting dragged into it," Fred said, holding up his hands with a look of sheer terror. "Give Hermione a glass of wine and a spell and the result is usually both messy and painful."

"I'll drink to that," Harry said, raising his glass once more.

The rest of the evening passed in a sociable haze of banter, good food and the kind of agreeable company that lays a man open for anything. It was well past midnight before the plates were cleared away and Fred, Seamus and Draco lit long cigars.

Whilst the men smoked and discussed suitably manly business, the girls all moved into the living room to talk about that which is known only to the female race and a mystery to anyone with a Y chromosome.

"Why oh why," Draco mused through a haze of cigar smoke, "is everything I like either illegal, immoral or fattening."

"Well the easiest way to stop smoking," Harry took the cigar from Draco's lips, "is to stop putting cigarettes in your mouth and lighting them."

"Stop taking all the fun out of life," George chided.

"How's the writing going?" Sean asked. "Have you started a new novel yet?"

"No," Harry sighed. "I'm just enjoying being appreciated at the moment."

"It was featured in last Sunday's paper," Fred pointed out. "Did you get any good reviews?" Harry had read the article, and laughed aloud at the overly-insightful critics who seemed to find metaphors in the simplest of his prose and philosophies hidden in every line of dialogue.

"Those people don't actually read the books before they review them," he said, taking another sip of wine, "it just prejudices them."

"I read it," Sean said, "and they did call you very original."

"Yeah, well any praise from critics is just like a hangman saying you've got a very pretty neck," Harry muttered.

"I think we all know," Draco said, "that especially in Harry's case, any originality is just undetected plagiarism." Harry poked him in the side.

"Thank you for that, darling," he said mockingly.

"At least you're reaping the benefits of the good old Hogwarts education," George said, "whereas Draco here doesn't do very much at all." There was a twinkle in the Weasley's eye.

"Education is the inculcation of the incomprehensible into the ignorant by the incompetent." Draco said, satisfied.

"What in God's name did you just say?" Sean asked. Draco just winked at him through the haze of smoke.

"Now if I knew that, I wouldn't have said it."


	7. Bedknobs and Broomsticks

I'm so sorry this is so late! Real life has been biting me in the arse but that's no excuse. Thank you so much to everyone who left me reviews, it was incredibly kind of you and I only hope that you enjoy this chapter as much. I'm afraid I can't provide email notification of updates but my LJ will track them.

Chapter 7: Bedknobs and Broomsticks

Sexual intercourse is a grossly overrated pastime; the position is undignified, the pleasure momentary and the consequences utterly damnable. -- Lord Chesterfield

At around two, Ron showed Harry and Draco into one of the guest rooms, both feeling comfortably lethargic, and left them to their own devices. Nearly everyone was staying over, and Harry had watched with fascination as Ron had magicked some extra dimensions onto his house to make sure everyone fitted, before he and Lavender had vanished into the Master bedroom.

The room he and Draco had been granted was large, with a double bed in the middle furnished completely in navy blue. Harry peeled off his black shirt and cast it haphazardly on the ground before slumping on the bed and groaning with relief.

"I never thought tonight would be over," he said.

"I know," Draco replied from somewhere near his feet, "but it wasn't too bad."

"It could have been worse," Harry agreed and closed his eyes against the slightly blurry view of the ceiling. He could sense Draco moving around the room, wordlessly undressing as the silence between them grew louder and more pronounced.

"Potter?" Draco asked suddenly, shattering the peace with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

"Malfoy," Harry murmured back to him.

"About earlier." Draco's words and tone left Harry in little doubt of what he wanted to discuss and Harry's breath quickened sharply as he considered the possibility of a very awkward moment being imminent.

He opened one lazy eye to see Draco standing over him, his pale skin bathed in a patch of moonlight that was streaming through the window. He looked faintly uncertain, and his sudden vulnerability only added to the strength of his considerable appeal.

Harry sat up slowly, dangling his legs over the end of the bed, and fitting Draco easily between his knees. He didn't want to talk any more, he was sick of talking. The one thing he wanted more than anything in the world was to touch Draco, to run his hands over the framework of moonlight that made up his porcelain face, to touch his lips with his fingers and his mouth. Draco was silent as Harry glided his hands up his forearms, thinking that it was so easy to expose Draco's beautiful, beautiful skin, so easy to lay him naked to the world. Harry's fingers tightened without warning and he pulled Draco suddenly closer, falling backwards onto the bed so that the blond was positioned on top of him.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, nudging Draco's chin with his nose.

"Hmm?" Draco said, rendered incoherent by the Harry's abrupt proximity.

"Shut up," Harry said, and thrust himself upwards, invading Draco's mouth with a brutal urgency and skilfully positioning himself so that they were perfectly aligned. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, groin to groin. Harry's hands found their way to the edge of Draco's sweater and pulled it over his head, revealing the delicious expanse of pale chest that just cried out to be licked, touched, claimed.

The meeting of their skin was celebrated by a fire of nerves that were set alight by the contact, and Harry flipped Draco deftly onto his back, softening his protestations with his tongue.

"You talk too much," Harry gasped, as his mouth left Draco's and danced lightly down his throat. His voice was deeper now with desire, and more rough, and the sound of it set Draco's pulse thudding wildly.

"And you don't talk enough." Draco's hands moved to grasp Harry's jean-clad hips, grinding into him firmly, so that their erections met with an aching warmth. "You were always too silent, Harry." He arched as Harry's tongue flitted expertly through all the sensitive hollows of Draco's neck. "That's why I love getting under your skin." His fingers moved to the waistband of Harry's jeans and he thrust his hand inside and grasped Harry's cock, bringing the Gryffindor a breath away from orgasm.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry breathed, his tongue tracing the smooth, clean lines of Draco's collarbones. "You do it to hurt me."

"I do it to see you riled," Draco corrected, mind wavering on the borders of coherency. He ground down again, any incongruity wiped from his mind by the sheer, consuming pleasure. "I do it because I'm the only one that can." The friction between them was now reaching torrid levels.

Harry laughed, a hollow laugh, and moved his lips up to the edge of Draco's ear, which he kissed.

"The same goes for me," Harry said, kissing Draco's cheekbone. "I'm the only one that can hurt you," he kissed his jaw, "I'm the only one that can get to you." He kissed the corner of his mouth, and his hands moved lower, "and right now, I'm the only one that can make you gasp." And he did. His hands stroked Draco's cock firmly, moving in a searing, if unpractised, rhythm that left the blond feeling inescapably boneless.

Fingers fumbled at zips, and two pairs of trousers found their way to the floor. Harry let out a moan before he could stop himself, and Draco wrapped his legs around him. Establishing a rhythm of moving against him, their hands moving to touch each other's bodies in a way neither had ever contemplated doing. There was no solid warmth of experience, rather an exploration coloured by fervency and the freshness of youth. But then it was the drawing of gratification that was all that was desired; the subtleties born of age could wait.

"I've hated you," Harry muttered suddenly into Draco's mouth, some part of his burning mind aware of the irony of this situation. "I've hated you for so long." His actions had nothing to do with hatred as his hands went to pull Draco even nearer to him, closing them together as a pair, their bodies moving steadily, slicked with perspiration.

"And now you're fucking me," Draco breathed, teasing Harry's nipple with his fingers, feeling the welcome anchorage of a set of lean muscles fasten him to the bed and loving the sensation more than he would be willing to admit.

They kissed again, and it was hard and raw. Harry knew he was close, and one hand grazed the back of Draco's head, twining in that soft blond hair that was now so tousled. Draco's nails were scratching his back and by their sudden deepening and the way Draco tilted himself against him, Harry could tell he was close too. A pleasurable shudder ran through his muscles as all thoughts of irony were driven from his mind. The speed of warm hands brought a throaty groan from his lips.

A minute or two later, one more long stroke did it. For the both of them.

They collapsed, sweating and weak, onto the bed, their stomachs a sticky mess and their bodies exhausted.

It was more than a few minutes before either could work up the strength and inclination to talk, but Harry didn't care. His senses were so full with Draco that he had no desire to question what they had just done or blacken it somehow with awkwardness.

"That was…" Draco panted at last, crawling up slightly to rest his head on the pillow.

"Interesting?" Harry finished, rolling over so they were nose to nose. One of Draco's fingers moved to trace Harry's jaw line in a way that was characterised by its tenderness. Harry's eyes closed of their own volition at so feather-light a touch and Draco kissed the nape of Harry's neck.

"You could say that," he said. There was a brief silence that held neither the awkwardness nor the discomfort that Harry had feared. "At least I know that you do have skills that aren't related to Quidditch."

"I'm a man of many talents," Harry said, stretching. "You're not that bad yourself, for a Slytherin." Draco hit him with a pillow but there was a smile on his face, mingled with the fatigue.

"I'm tired." He yawned, and rolled over, curled up against Harry's body. Harry hesitated before sliding one arm around Draco's waist and coming to lie behind him, their naked skin sealed together.

Draco didn't tell him to move. A minute later, he slid one leg between Harry's and settled himself back in the Gryffindor's embrace. Harry wasn't sure which one of them fell asleep first.

Three companions were travelling together by the misty light of the moon as it illumined the drifting shadows that mantled the sky. Two men walked side by side, clad completely in black, their cloaks billowing around them in the breeze, creating shadows about their persons and fleetingly concealing them. They walked without speaking, guarded by the round, amber eyes of the raven that wheeled and soared above, grazing the treetops.

Their footfalls were the only noises to break the oppressive silence that was so thick about them. There was no characteristic hooting of an owl, no predatory rustling in the bushes and no insect sounds to rend the air. Occasionally one of them would step on a dry twig and it would snap loudly, ringing around the silence as it would ever have done otherwise, sounding painfully audible. Once or twice the raven above, the animal form of Bellatrix Lestrange, would let out an ear-splitting cawing that pierced everything and unnerved even the bravest hearts.

At close to the witching hour, they stopped. The two men stopped in a clearing of the wood. The night seemed oddly starless but the pallid moonlight still sent shards of ice through the foliage, visible even from their dark resting place. The raven swooped down and with a deft flick of its black wings, elongated to form the unmistakeable figure of a woman. She bent over, breathing heavily from the exertion of flying.

"Are you tired?" Macnair said in his growling voice.

"A little." She flashed him a defiant eye. "The mind of a raven is very different to that of a human. After assuming the form for so long, I begin to take that mind."

"Different?" Avery, the other man, asked. "How?"

"Animal emotions are less complex," Bellatrix replied tersely. "It takes immense strength of will to evade distraction during flight and remain focused on the task in hand."  
"Were we seen?" Macnair asked urgently.

"No," Bellatrix reassured them. There is a muggle town a few miles east of here that was lit with their strange orange lights but there is no-one nearby.

"Where are we?" Avery enquired. "How far have we come?"

"We are west of our Manchester," Macnair answered, his grizzled face made more unpleasant by the bleakness of the light. "It is now many miles away. These are the Midlands; we are in Shropshire I believe, and that town must be Shrewsbury." A sudden look of acute discontent flashed across Avery's face and he kicked savagely at a sizeable rock. A bird shot from its roost in fright and Bellatrix jumped.

"This is ridiculous," he snapped. "We have waited for bloody months just watching them and now we have left!" Macnair growled again and grabbed Avery by the throat of his robes.

"You know exactly why we had to leave," he said. "That blasted werewolf is tracking us!"

"He knew we were in Manchester," Bellatrix said softly, withdrawing a garnet pendant from behind the clasp of her robes. "This jewel was glowing and it is especially sensitive to surveillance spells being cast on the wearer."

"And you're sure it's the werewolf?" Avery asked scathingly.

"Of course!" Bellatrix snapped. "Ever since Potter left the Order and took up with Malfoy again they've been watching the pair of them like hawks. Lupin is still a member of the Order. He's the one who forced us into exile, do you not remember?" Avery answered her with an angry glare.

"I do," he said dangerously, his tone icy.

"He's the one who is so alert for any hint of danger surrounding his precious charges," Macnair said, his voice unnaturally guttural. He rubbed idly at a jagged scar which ran along the edge of his throat, seemingly directly over his carotid artery. It had been a horrible wound and had ignited in him a passionate, all-consuming hatred for Lupin, who had dealt the blow. After the battle that weakened Voldemort once more, his most devout supporters had been driven to either exile, incarceration or suicide. Bellatrix, Avery and Macnair had been a lucky three to escape death but the lust for revenge would not be easily slaked. Their hatred of Harry and Draco, as instrumental in their Lord's second downfall, was unrivalled and vengeance had been long in coming.

"We must keep going," Bellatrix said. "I don't know how limited by distance the spells are."

"How are you planning on getting rid of them?" Avery asked. He was a second generation Death Eater, much younger than either Bellatrix and Macnair, his blood full of the fire of youth. He had been a friend of Draco's at school, but the future had changed many things for better and for worse.

"We're not, for the time being," Macnair said, smiling slightly. "This is the perfect feint. If we can draw attention away from the city and make them think that the threat is lessening then we have a better chance of succeeding in the long run. When we reach a little further south we will work at dismantling the tracking charms and then set up an Untraceable Portkey back to Manchester." Avery looked rather mutinous, but said nothing. Frustration seemed to be washing over him, as he had neither the patience nor the inclination to wait for such complete, destructive revenge to be exacted.

Harry and Draco awoke when sunlight began to stream through the windows, and land in vibrant yellow beams on their faces. Draco screwed up his eyes against the harshness of the light, and rolled over quickly, smacking Harry in the jaw with his elbow.

"Ouch," was the first thing Harry said. "Thanks for the wake up call."

"Sorry," Draco muttered, fighting off the last shreds of sleep. He looked to where Harry was rubbing his jawbone and glowering, and every burning memory of the last night came flooding back to him. There was something of a mess covering both of them, but Draco couldn't help but notice the intense beauty of Harry looking so dishevelled and unkempt, with a distinct afterglow highlighting his cheekbones.

"Sorry," Draco said again, as consciousness returned in its full, vengeful form. "I didn't mean to hit you."

"S'ok," Harry shrugged and lay back down. Draco hesitated before doing the same, and lying to face Harry, their noses touching.

"I can't believe last night happened," Draco said, and was instantly chilled by the sudden flinch in Harry's eyes, even though he himself did not move.

"Do you regret it?" Harry asked, his voice giving away nothing.

"No," Draco said at once, and truthfully, "I'm just saying, it was strange. I never thought it would happen."

"What about this being our future?" Harry waved his arm around, "It didn't occur to you that we might do this on occasion?"

"I just don't think I believed it until now," Draco said, looking at his fingers. Those same fingers had been wrapped around Harry's cock a few hours earlier. "This made everything real."

There was a silence, but it was not necessarily uncomfortable. "I'm a mess." Harry said, "I should really take a shower."

"Can I come?" Draco asked without thinking. Harry grinned his familiar, lopsided grin and pulled Draco out of bed. They moved towards the bathroom without touching each other, but as soon as they got inside, they melted together and dived into their own ecstasies, whilst the water absolved them.

An hour later, when they were washed and sated, they conjured fresh clothes for themselves and made their way downstairs, where they found everyone else already up and about.

"Morning," Hermione said cheerily, "you're up late." Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "Never mind," Hermione said at once, struck by a sudden realisation. They took their seats quietly, neither missing the wry smile, which Hermione subsequently threw in their direction.

There was the distinct air of 'the morning after' lingering over the kitchen. Many of the occupants were nursing headaches, bleariness and utter confusion, begging Hermione for a dose of her anti-hangover spell.

"I remember you making this," Ron said as she held her wand tip to his temple and instantly his thoughts were clarified.

"I had to," Hermione said, "after the post-NEWT party."

"I can't even remember that," Draco said, hoping to prompt someone into describing the event.

"Ah you must do," Seamus exclaimed, "you and Harry vanished for two hours and came back covered in bruises. You bastards said you had been duelling." Harry flushed.

"I remember," he lied, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

"That was some party," Ron reminisced fondly, "what little I can recall of it."

"I'll never forget finding you in bed with Dobby," Hermione sniggered.

"What?" Draco looked as if Christmas had come early. "The house elf?" Ron blushed bright crimson, and it clashed horribly with his hair.

"Yes the house elf," he said, his jaw clenched, "But nothing revolting happened, we just..."

"Made sweet love until the morning?" Draco retorted and Harry snorted into his coffee cup. Ron looked furious.

"No!" he exclaimed. "Of course not! Don't be disgusting!"

"What's for breakfast?" Harry asked hopefully, trying to change the subject. Draco was looking faintly amused at the angry face of Ron who was glaring acidly at him.

"Sean and I have made some french toast," Ginny said, "the muggle way."

"The muggle way?" Harry looked surprised.

"Not all of us are blessed with the gift of magic," Sean said, looking decidedly unmanly with a pink, frilly apron tied around his waist.

Before long, Harry got to his feet, his eyes fixed on something in the other room which he had just noticed. Guessing he wouldn't be missed, he slipped quietly into what looked like an office, where two beautiful brooms stood propped against the wall.

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. Something he had missed most about being stuck in the future was the seeming absence of Quidditch or flying. He hadn't thought to question Hermione over it, and surmised that his future self was too busy for the sport. It struck him as strange, though, that he would have given up something he was so passionate about.

The brooms that stood before him were utterly magnificent. Long, clean wooden shafts ended in tails that were honed to aerodynamic perfection, their straight twigs flawlessly clipped, and tapering to a graceful point. The handle was emblazoned with a flash of silver and the name, 'Nimbus: Platinum Edition.' Just by looking at the brooms, Harry's trained eye could tell that they were very fine indeed, very expensive, and probably divine to fly.

An ache suddenly awoke in his chest, and he itched to mount one of the brooms and soar through the clouds, with nothing but the sun and the sky. Ron and Lavender lived on the very fringe of a neighbouring town, and Harry had seen out of the window that morning, wide fields that disappeared into endless stretches of green. He could sense, also, that they were guarded by some heavy anti-muggle charms, which led him to believe that Ron routinely flew over that area.

"What are you doing?" Draco's curious voice alerted Harry to his presence. The blond was leaning casually against the doorframe, looking extremely fetching.

"I found these!" Harry exclaimed excitedly, throwing Draco one of the brooms.

"Platinum edition!?" Draco grinned delightedly, "Is this for real?"

"Don't they look amazing?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Do you think Weasley would let us take them for a ride?" Draco ran his hands almost lovingly over the broom handle, and Harry could see the hunger in his eyes.

He darted out of the room, broom in hand, and returned to the living room, where everyone looked up in surprise.

"Could Draco and I go for a fly?" Harry asked, trying to kept his excited breathlessness from his voice. Harry was only slightly disconcerted by the way a distinct silence fell, and several people exchanged meaningful looks.

"You want to fly?" Ron asked, and was it Harry's imagination but was there a hint of incredulity in his tone?

"Er, yeah, if that's ok," Harry said, pausing, unsettled.

"Sure," Ron said in an overly encouraging voice, "go for it."

"Thanks," Harry said, his eyes narrowing at all the people who were watching him so avidly. He looked instinctively over at Hermione but she was determinedly not meeting his eye, so he returned to Draco. "Let's go," he said.

The brooms were more perfect than Harry could ever have hoped for. As he kicked off from the ground, the wind whistled through his hair and filled his heart with a sense of elation so powerful that his breath was snatched from his lungs. He looked over at Draco who looked as exhilarated as he did, and together they both soared into the air, looping and twirling into the sky.

Harry hadn't felt that wonderful in weeks. The brooms moved with a far lighter touch than even his Firebolt, and he could feel the Nimbus: Platinum being guided by his fingertips alone, and almost sensing his intention before he conveyed it to his hands. It took a minute to get used to, but when he and Draco were acclimatised to the extra sensitivity of the new brooms, they found themselves able to perform complicated moves that would have been made more difficult before.

They flew at breakneck speeds, racing each other around the fields, rising to dizzying heights before plunging downwards, their hearts thudding wildly in their chests, their cheeks pink with animation.

"These are fantastic!" Draco yelled as they rose again, drawing level with each other. Draco's pristine blond hair was ruffled by the wind, but his eyes were dancing with happiness and Harry couldn't remember him looking so elated.

"I know!" Harry shouted back, and, looking down, noticed that their friends were slowly coming out to watch.

"Hey guys!" Ron was shouting from below, waving madly.

"Hi!" Harry waved back.

"I wonder how fast these things can go." Draco mused, before catching Harry's eye. Simultaneously, they sprang forward, their brooms shooting like bullets through the air, the riders buffeted by the wind and yet gloriously happy.

They played a complex game of hunting and catching, tailing each other before one would spin away and become the quarry, whilst the other tried to keep up, through spins and turns, loops and spirals, soaring higher than the birds, and skimming the ground. Everything around them melted into a speeding blur, as they attempted to elude each other, sometimes one becoming the captor, sometimes the target. They flew on each other's tails, jostling and vying for the lead, their laughs mingling with the clapping and shouts of appreciation below.

They had never flown so spectacularly in their lives. The brooms lent them a sense of recklessness that allowed them to place their lives in danger and laugh over the possibility of injury. They demonstrated an impressive feat of aviation, the desire to beat the other one spurring them into greater and greater risks, bringing out the very best of their already admirable skills.

Harry's stomach clenched in excitement as he drew near Draco, high in the air. They were sweaty and ruffled, but deliriously content, and he noticed Draco panting slightly with the exhilaration of it.

"I have _got_ to get one of these," he said, and Harry laughed.

"We've been up here for ages," he said, looking at his watch, "we'd better go down."

With smooth unity, they dived suddenly, their speed eliciting whoops from their friends. Pulling up at the last moment, they halted their brooms gracefully, both inwardly marvelling over the power of the brakes. Harry forgot to compensate somewhat and found himself sliding forward with a jolt.

"That was wonderful!" Ron exclaimed. "What brought that on?"

"I just fancied flying," Harry said, surely that wasn't so strange.

"I haven't seen you fly like that since we were kids," Ron said, his eyes wide and dilated, "not for years!"

"I didn't know you could still do those things," Ginny said.

"Yeah," Seamus agreed, "you guys haven't flown that way since Hogwarts, what's going on?"

Harry and Draco exchanged a look of complete bewilderment. How could it be possible that they might have given up Quidditch. They both loved it so much, it didn't make any sense.

The morning sun was beginning to shine with a warmth unusual for February, and instead of returning in, their friends, inspired by Harry and Draco, took the brooms and began flying gently around the gardens, evidently wishing for the courage to attempt such death-defying stunts as they had witnessed.

Noticing Hermione hurrying inside, Harry and Draco sped after her, catching her just as she entered the kitchen.

"Hermione," Harry said warningly, "what's this they're all saying?"

"Did we give up Quidditch?" Draco asked suddenly, biting his lip.

"I thought you'd ask about this sooner or later," Hermione said.

"What?" Harry exclaimed, confused. "Will you please just tell us what you're talking about?"

"You'd better sit down," Hermione motioned to the sofa, where they all sat and took a deep breath. "You guys don't fly any more," she said, "you haven't since we left school."

"Huh?" Harry's heart sank, "Why?"

"Harry, please," Hermione rubbed her temples, and Harry began to pace around the room.

"What are you saying?" Draco asked. "What happened to us?"

"You," Hermione looked at him, "had an accident when you were abroad. You were hunting a dragon at night, and had commandeered a broom to tail it through the skies. From the little that you told us, it turned on you and set fire to your broom, and you went careering into the ground."

"Me?" Draco looked disbelieving.

"I'm afraid so," Hermione looked very grave indeed, "You lost your confidence after that, and you never really rode a broom again if you could help it."

"_Me?!_" Draco repeated.

"You sound like a parrot," Hermione pointed out, and Harry obligingly shut Draco's mouth for him, which was hanging open.

"What happened to me, Hermione?" Harry asked, his eyes shadowed darkly, "Why was Ron looking at me as if I was mad when I asked to fly?"

"I didn't want to tell you too much about your lives," Hermione said, "because I was so sure that you would get sent home. I've tried to keep most of your future a secret so that you wouldn't change the past too much."

"Please just tell me," Harry sounded cold and toneless. Draco looked up at him sharply.

"When you entered Auror training," Hermione sighed, "you didn't really have much time to fly, so it took a backseat. After that, you became so obsessed with fighting the Dark Arts that you never went near your broom, and even after you gave up on being an Auror, you had sacrificed so much of your life that Quidditch was too painful. I don't think you wanted anything to do with something that reminded you so forcefully of the times when you had once been happy."

"But I'm happy now, aren't I?" asked Harry.

"Yes," Hermione said softly, "I think so, but the pain of youth doesn't go away, Harry, it just changes. You learnt that you have to give up a lot for true happiness, and flying isn't that important to you any more, you've learned to live without it. You also had an accident when you were fighting, and that put you out of action for a bit. I think Quidditch became physically painful after that."

"It just keeps coming and coming," Draco leaned back, holding a soothing hand over his eyes.

"What does?" Harry asked, distractedly.

"The shit," Draco replied. "Either God really hates us or we've made spectacular hashes of our lives."

"It's not so bad being you," Hermione said with a hint of humour, "you have affluence, beauty, youth and love."

"Yeah, but not Quidditch," Harry said, painfully aware of just how much he sounded like a petulant child.

"You've changed," Hermione said, shrugging, although there was a gleam of nervousness in her eyes, "I didn't think you'd like this piece of information, but you've grown up now."

Harry and Draco didn't look at her, or each other. Both were wondering just how they had managed to lose so much of themselves in such a short space of time. They didn't know who they were any more, everything was so different, and everything was so strange. It was an unsettling feeling, not knowing who you were, and both Harry and Draco remained taciturn and reticent for the remainder of the day. Their thoughts were occupied with the loss of everything they had thought familiar, and the revelations that seemed to ebb and flow over them like poisoned tides.

February melted imperceptibly into March. Harry and Draco's visits to Hermione's library were growing fewer and fewer as they found themselves made busy by the demanding lives of their future selves. A strange realisation was beginning to permeate their minds: as terrified as they were that they would never get home, they found a strange sense of contentment in living this alternate reality.

They never gave up hope, though, and it wasn't long before Draco began work on another potion as a last resort. He wasn't entirely sure he would be able to concoct something potent enough, but right now it was their only option. In the meantime, they shied away from any social engagements that weren't strictly pressing, tried to condition themselves into their 'characters' without losing their sense of self, and worked as hard as they could not to ruin their own futures.

Hermione was a godsend. She gave up many hours to helping them adjust and when it all became too much, she let them slip back into being teenagers whilst she held together their lives. Without her they would have crumbled. Harry and Draco just weren't ready to be launched on the adult world, no matter how little of a childhood either of them had had.

One Spring evening found both Harry and Draco sitting up on the roof together, now in silence, now in speech, just watching the city change beneath them. It was a noticeable transition during the twilight hours. Lights would flicker on from behind grey windows, they would take on a decidedly more neon quality, and as the light in the sky died, the city dwellers compensated for it by lighting Manchester with electricity. The people on the streets began to wear fewer clothes, incongruous that it should be so, for the skirts seemed to shorten as the chill of the night deepened. From their vantage point, Harry and Draco could see over both halves of the city, their eyes drawn to the wizarding quarter where the laughter and chatter of the residents was punctuated by peculiar bangs and clouds of violently purple smoke unseen by the muggle inhabitants.

It was a microcosm of the world, and utterly invaluable.

They sat on a blanket they had found stashed behind the sofa, an open packet of biscuits lying between them, smoke coiling sensuously from Draco's lips.  
"Must you do that?" Harry asked, waving the smoke away. The cigarette between Draco's fingers glowed orange for a moment as he took another breath. In answer to the question, Draco blew the smoke directly in Harry's face. "Thanks," the latter replied. "How's the potion coming?" he sensed Draco's eyes darken.

"I told you it would take a while to perfect," he said.

"I know."

"Don't be impatient."

"Me?"

"I forgot, I wanted to show you something," Draco said suddenly, watching his cigarette explode into a shower of sparks over the edge of the building.

"What?" Harry's interest was grudgingly ignited. Draco was rifling through the pile of papers he had been sitting up here with when Harry had joined him.

"Look what I found," Draco said, thrusting some pieces of cartridge paper into Harry's hands.

"Lumos," Harry said, lighting the tip of his wand to give him a better view. Unused as he was to the increased power, he shielded his eyes against the immediate glare that issued from the tip of the shaft.

"Bloody hell!" Draco exclaimed. "Are you trying to blind me?"

"Bastard thing," Harry muttered, dampening the spell. "What are these then?"

"Drawings, you cretin," Draco said, suppressing a smile.

"I see that," Harry rolled his eyes, turning over the paper. His breath hitched, "er...Malfoy, are these of me?" The drawings were excellent, and of a naked man sprawled unceremoniously across a bed. Harry flushed with embarrassment as he recognized himself and the very inadequate scrap of material covering his groin. There were several of them. All of Harry. One of him standing naked by a window, one of him drinking a glass of wine, many of him sleeping, and one of him with his arms wrapped lovingly around Draco.

"Looks like it," Draco said, looking supremely unembarrassed, "quite a good likeness, even if I say so myself."

"You did these?" Harry looked surprised, "when?"

"I found them this morning," Draco said. "There're loads, but these are the best ones."

"Wow, you really found a subject you liked," Harry mused, turning over a sixth and seventh picture of him. He seemed to always be in varying states of undress.

"Yeah, your naked arse," Draco gave a short laugh.

"They're good," Harry said, his attention completely caught by the pictures, "they're really good."

He was bewitched by the various strokes used by Draco's pencils. He was a fine artist, and Harry looked at himself, depicted in soft, dark graphite that gave him a sense of melancholy and brooding, and in light, pale pencil that made him look young and self-assured. There was a definite sense of concentration involved in the creation of such beautiful pictures. It was plain that Draco knew his way around Harry's body, as Harry recognised the various landmarks that made up his unique frame. There was a knowledge of him so deep that it took his breath away, and he looked up to find Draco staring intently into his face.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm just thinking how well I must have studied you," Draco said, "to produce something like that."

"Is this what you spend all your time doing?" Harry asked and Draco pushed him against the shoulder.

"I'm sure I'm just as important to the maintenance of domestic bliss as you," he said as Harry handed back his drawings, "I just choose to express myself differently. You write, I draw."

"Fair enough," Harry said, settling back down and staring up at the first stars that were beginning to peek around the moon. He listened idly to the sound of Draco rustling a newspaper, then heard him light his wand as well.

"What are you reading?" Harry asked.

"Newspaper," Draco said.

"Yeah but what's in it?"

"Something about Iraq and weapons of mass destruction." Harry sat up.

"Let me see that," he said. The newspaper was the Daily Prophet, and Harry was at a loss to see why muggle events would be of any importance to the wizarding world. He looked down at the picture of Tony Blair which blinked up at him confusedly under a title 'Muggle Minister Torn Over Magical Mess.'

Harry began to read.

'In a statement made by the muggle Prime Minister today, **writes Dennis Creevey, special correspondent**, it was announced to the magical world just how much his involvement in our affairs has cost him.

For all those who are ignorant of the matter, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has recently taken refuge in the east, protecting himself by too many spells for Aurors to be able to track him down. He found concealment with the Iraqi leader, Saddam Hussein, who, seduced by the promise of power, has been hiding the Dark Lord for almost a year.

The issue has been one of national security, and the Minister for Magic was forced to inform the muggle Prime Minister of the affair. Whilst the true story was kept a secret from the general public, the danger of Saddam Hussein was suggested by the Ministry-initiated rumour that he was in possession of Weapons of Mass Destruction and posed a threat to our country.

Using this as reason, muggle leader Tony Blair and American President George Bush started a war against the armies of the east, in a valiant effort to flush out the Dark Lord from wherever he was hiding. With the aid of information provided by the Aurors at the Ministry, the war was successful, with a cessation of hostilities being reached some months ago. Whilst it is a tenuous hold of harmony, it has had the desired effect, and all evidence points to the fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indeed fled the country, and the safety of his protector. Saddam Hussein himself was recently captured and is undergoing interrogation by members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad.

The war was an incredibly unpopular move in both of the involved nations. With many muggles rising up in protest against the hostilities, unaware of the true threat that existed in the east. Members of the magical community, however, are reminded that it was for our benefit that the muggles went to war, and in an effort to stop the kind of terror that existed nearly twenty-seven years ago.

It seems now that Tony Blair is regretting his decision to become involved in magical affairs. The untimely death of Adrian Stickweed, previous Minister for Magic meant that communication between the Magic and Muggle ministries broke down for a short while as more pressing issues were attended to. It now becomes clear that during this time, Mr Blair has been left without valid reason for war in suspicious circumstances.

A leak at the Ministry has suggested to the muggle government that the claim of Weapons of Mass Destruction in the east was groundless, and therefore rendering the war unjustified.

Without being able to reveal the true reason for the conflict, Mr Blair has been forced to continue with the story, despite the frequent enquiries by muggles that endeavour to prove him wrong.

Mr Blair's reputation has been called into question and his party has suffered a drop in support following his determination to continue with such an unpopular war. It is possible that the participation in magical affairs has cost him the next general election, thus making relations between wizards and muggles sink to an all time low.

Dealings between the two Ministries grow increasingly strained and we must ask ourselves whether this issue has been the cause of an even greater rift between the two worlds that exist within England's towns and cities. Whether the Labour party will stay in power is questionable, thanks to the unwillingness of the Ministry of Magic to deal with what should have been an inside affair.

Just how far should we allow muggles to penetrate the magical world? If the result of such secrets is the division of the country in this way, it may be arguable that a policy of complete honesty is best, but then the ramifications may far outweigh all that is beneficial. This reporter can do nothing more than to urge you, dear reader, to consider the muggles that walk our streets..." Harry stopped reading.

"Well," he said, surprised, "That's something I didn't expect."

"The co-operation of both ministries?" Draco asked. "Why not? The muggles were informed when Sirius Black was on the loose."

"I suppose," Harry said, thinking back to when Hermione had told him that magic-muggle relations were at an all time low. "The more you read about politics the more you come to realise that each party is worse than the other."

"And you think Longbottom will make a good Minister for Magic?" Draco asked, "He has about as much backbone as a chocolate éclair."

"How would you know?" Harry asked, feeling Draco's leg rub against his and wondering if it was an intentional motion. "When you weren't terrorizing him at school, Neville had more fortitude than anyone ever guessed." Draco's subsequent snort informed Harry of his feelings on that matter with no need for a response.

"Sure," he said, unconvincingly. "Longbottom was brave and resilient."

"He was in Gryffindor, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, along with the Weasley brood," Draco said, as though this settled the matter.

"Ron's brave," Harry said, loyally, "in his own way. He helped me fight off Voldemort once, you know."

"That's an issue I thought would be resolved by now," Draco sighed, "Eight years and he's still a feature in our lives."

"I just wish we knew for sure where he's hiding now. Doubtless he's still after me."

"You're looking at this issue entirely the wrong way," Draco said witheringly. "Not many people can boast a mortal enemy by the time they're a year old. I, for one, think that makes you very special."

"And a somewhat endangered species," Harry said, his lips quirking into a smile at the flippancy with which Draco deigned to talk about such a subject.

"Always forgive your enemies, Harry," Draco said, rolling over to support himself on his elbows, "nothing annoys them so much." Harry laughed aloud.

"Does that include you?" He asked and Draco nodded straight away.

"Merlin, yes," he said, "nothing would irritate me more highly than your forgiveness."

"I hope then, that we will remain forever adversaries," Harry said solemnly.

"I'm sure we will," Draco murmured. "The sex is just a two year interlude to that."

Harry grinned. "What I wouldn't give to see our friends' faces if they could see what happens to us in the future."

There was silence for a moment.

"Makes you wonder what else has happened," Draco said, looking at the stars. Something in his voice struck Harry, who lay down by his side, lying just close enough so they were touching without making it obvious.

"We'll get home," he said with such certainty that Draco looked at him, one silvery eyebrow raised. Harry was taken aback by Draco's lips pressing suddenly against his own, and he stifled a small cry as he felt a warm tongue exploring the insides of his mouth was surprising skill. His hands ran through Draco's hair, down his neck, over his shoulder blades, wanting to touch as much skin as possible. Right there, under the stars.

A/N: The phrase 'Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much,' is a Wildean paradox. Please review, my lovelies!


	8. Buried Suspicions

This is the R-rated version of an originally NC-17 chapter. The marginally smuttier version can be found over on my LJ. I'm sorry that this took so long to get out but thank you all so much for my lovely reviews. I am very grateful.

Chapter 8: Buried Suspicions

You'll never live like common people  
You'll never do whatever common people do  
You'll never fail like common people  
You'll never watch your life slide out of view  
and then dance and drink and screw  
'cos there's nothing else to do

-- Common People - Pulp

It soon became apparent that under the stars was not, perhaps, the best place for a little light-hearted fondling. Before long, Draco happened to look up from his activities to see a greasy old man staring avidly at them from a window in the next building. The idea of being watched by some such voyeur made him shudder and the pair retreated inside where there was warmth and a distinct lack of greasy old men.

That night they lay curled side by side in the large bed, their hands brushing with a tentative contact. Each was fast asleep and each was dreaming, as they did almost every night, of the significant times of the years they had skipped when they had drunk the potion.

Draco's were disappointingly banal that night, as he dreamt about various moments with the Slytherins, but Harry's were more vivid than ever before.

He was dreaming of Draco and himself, of the first time they had had sex since they had been reunited. He could feel, from the dream, that it had been a long time for both of them, and Harry felt himself writhe atop the bed as he witnessed their intense coition with something akin to arousal.

He awoke sweating and sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. He had never dreamed that sex could be so passionate and fierce; at Hogwarts he had fucked pallid girls whose faces had blended into each other, he had fucked them to forget, to provide a moment's release from reality. In his dream, Draco hadn't let him escape for one moment. Their actions had blurred into a frenzied game of touching, tasting and the sheer, animal need of two people who could not bring themselves to be parted from each other.

It had been utterly perfect.

Harry felt his breathing calm slightly, even though there was still a sheen of sweat on his brow. He rubbed it, his thoughts replaying that sweet moment of ecstasy over and over again. The shift in his position had made Draco stir beside him.

"What's wrong?" came the groggy voice, as Draco struggled to sit up.

"Nothing," Harry said breathlessly. "Just had a dream, that's all." Draco rubbed his eyes.

"Me too," he said, "but it was really boring, what was yours about?" His eyes appearing less misty, he looked at Harry who glanced away, blushing.

"It was…um…the first time we had sex since we were reunited," he said.

Draco looked faintly interested. "Any good?"

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly, remembering particularly vividly the way in which Draco eyes had glazed over when he came. "Yeah it was."

"I can see it's had something of an effect on you," Draco said matter-of-factly, as his fingers traced Harry's inner thigh, resting on the hardness in his pyjamas. Harry didn't answer straight away. The dream had turned him on more than he would care to admit, and the position of Draco's hand was doing little to help him. Instead of shrugging Draco off and vanishing into the bathroom, his mind came to a more gratifying resolution.

Without a moment's hesitation Harry turned and crashed down on Draco, their lips meeting with incredible force and it was a second or two before the initial pain turned into a torrid pleasure. The flash of surprise on Draco's face soon melted into satisfaction as his eyes closed and he allowed Harry to rest on top of him, their lips moving as though trying to suck the souls from their mouths.

There was no soft tenderness, no gentleness, none of that careful application that had defined their other kisses. This was hard, exhausting and driven by a lust so strong that it shook them to the core. It was no more than a few seconds before Harry felt Draco become hard beneath him, and he moved slightly, so that they were aligned against each other, and so close that every motion was felt, and their heartbeats hammered against each other.

"Are you going to show me everything you saw, then?" Draco breathed into Harry's mouth, involuntarily grinding against him.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you scream," Harry muttered back, grinding into Draco with much more force and feeling the blond arch beneath him, "and you're going to love every moment of it." He gasped as Draco sucked on the hollow at the curve of his throat, silently submitting himself. Harry could feel their heartbeats thudding next to each other between the cage of skin, both pulses racing as their blood flowed more quickly through their veins.

Whatever words Harry was going to say were snatched from his lips as Draco moved his mouth up and down his neck, alternately licking and nipping at the sensitive skin there. He felt the most wonderful tingling sensations as the warm tongue ran the length of his throat, sending shivers down his spine and making him want to drown himself inside Draco.

The Slytherin slept only in grey boxers, which Harry was very grateful for as he slid a little down his body and began to suck insistently at one of his nipples. Draco writhed beneath him, sufficiently encouraging Harry to move to the other one, darting his tongue over it, teasing it with his teeth until it became firm and then soothing it with the warmth of his mouth. The puckered flesh became sensitised enough for Draco to gasp raggedly, all breath seemingly snatched from his lungs. Other than the night after Ron's party they had been constrained by a teenage awkwardness that seemed particularly out of place in their current bodies. The huge divide they had crossed in one night had not changed as many things as they might have hoped but Harry could feel that Draco wanted this as much as he did. He had been wanting to touch him again and again but had rarely dared to. Now he was throwing caution to the wind and taking just what he wanted.

Harry paused in his activities, his stomach clenching with anticipation as he felt Draco's hand rub against his groin, slip beneath his waistband and begin fisting him so hard that he was a second away from orgasm before he regained control of himself. For a minute or two they stayed in that silent limbo of eliciting pleasure, knowing that each other's shaky control was wavering, knowing that this was all just a prelude to something that promised to send sparks from the rooftops.

Draco withdrew his hand and skilfully divested Harry of his t-shirt, throwing it to the floor and scratching his nails down Harry's back. Harry enjoyed the pain quite as much as the satisfaction, and the stinging edge added a new dimension to their fervency. He kissed and licked a path up Draco's chest, flitting his tongue into the cavities between his collarbones, mapping the series of planes and angles that made up this beautiful human being.

Draco was a canvas, as pure white as a dove, however dark and corrupt his soul might have been. Harry itched to make his mark on that pale skin, to bite and tear and own a piece of Draco for himself, the way no-one else could. His senses were flooded with the taste, smell and sound of Draco. He smelt like coffee, the way he always did, he was making soft noises of gratification, and he tasted faintly salty. No-one else he had been with had ever been this piquant. Ginny Weasley had tasted like cotton, her cold breasts nothing more that folds of material draped into her unresponsive tapestry. Harry hadn't felt anything for her, even after weeks of flirting to please her and Ron, but now he was half in love with Draco, if only for the passion the blond managed to invoke in him.

He moved into alignment with Draco's body again, and the blond wrapped his legs round Harry's waist so that they were grinding against each other with strength enough to leave them both groaning with ecstasy. They fit perfectly, and for a few moments they established a glorious rhythm of thrusting and grinding, steadily working themselves to completion, whilst their hands clung painfully tightly to each other.

Draco's fingers tangled in Harry's black hair, tilting his head back so that he could kiss his throat again, tugging with a need that Harry shared. Harry felt nails raking his back again, and sliding once more beneath his waistband, but coming to rest on his arse, cupping him lightly before pulling them closer together. Harry trailed his fingers teasingly down Draco's chest, rubbing his throbbing length once before slipping between his legs.

Draco arched suddenly, his eyes flicking open in surprise at the intrusion, and Harry bit down on his lip to stop him from saying anything. He raised his lips from Draco's for a moment, pausing to look at the man stretched out beneath him and marvelling inwardly at the fact that anybody could be so breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted to stop for a moment, ask if Draco was ok.

"Another," Draco uttered, his voice rasping painfully. "Another." Harry couldn't resist diving on him again and kissing him over and over. He showered him with tiny kisses, nipping his lips and drinking him deeply. It wasn't practiced or flawless, a symphony of perfection. It was two boys pretending they were men, just touching each other. But it was enough.

Draco was still hard against his stomach, and Harry loved the feeling of him against his skin, withdrawing his fingers and gripping Draco's thighs firmly.

"Are you ready?" he asked, receiving no response other than a deep, slightly messy kiss. Taking that as a yes, Harry moved forward and slid himself inside Draco. He was worried about hurting him, about going too far, but Draco didn't look as though he were in pain. On the contrary, he was pulling Harry into him again, urging him deeper, a look of clear longing on his face.

"Fuck this, Potter, hurry up," he snapped, his teeth gritted, his eyes screwed shut. Harry gave a lopsided grin before driving himself forward, so hard that he was worried about hurting him, but Draco just bucked helplessly against him, before coming all over Harry's stomach. Harry, almost lost in his own pleasure, watched the expression of seamless rapture diffuse across Draco's face, and wondered if he had ever seen anything so utterly exquisite.

"Enjoying yourself?" Harry lowered his mouth to Draco's again.

"Damn it, that's good," he muttered in between kisses.

"Say my name," Harry ordered, now thrusting harder than ever into Draco. Exertion was making his voice crack and his words incoherent.

"What?" Draco wasn't listening. One of his hands had gone up to grip the headboard behind them, allowing him more leverage.

"Say my name," Harry reiterated, moving harder and deeper, so that Draco groaned loudly.

"Harry," he said, "oh God, Harry." He could have said it a thousand times in a thousand tongues, but that occasion, as Draco spoke his name into his ear and Harry came, he had never known completion so flawless. He had never known such bliss. Stars exploded behind his eyes and he wanted to scream out obscenities into the night.

There were a few seconds as Harry rode out the last of his orgasm, Draco squirming beneath him, and when he was finished, he collapsed on top of Draco, the both of them sweaty and exhausted.

Harry pulled Draco into his embrace, wrapping his arms around him, Draco's head nestled comfortably under Harry's jaw. They slipped into a comfortable position where Harry's arms acted as Draco's pillow and their legs hooked around each other, locking them together. They lay there, panting, Draco's fingers caressing Harry's brow gently.

"I never thought I would be on my back one day, being fucked by you," he said, holding Harry closer, breathing in his scent. "Was this as good as your dream?"

"Better," Harry said firmly, "this was real, for a start."

"True." They didn't say anything else. As their hearts slowed, their breaths fell in time with each other, and it was to the lullaby of this symmetry that they fell asleep, tangled together, sealed as one person.

The next morning sent shards of annoyingly bright light into the bedroom to land directly on Draco's face. As the light intensified, he eyes fluttered open and he blearily cursed the sun with every profanity he could summon at so ungodly an hour.

"What are you swearing at?" Harry asked, waking up beside him but not opening his eyes. Draco looked down and smiled weakly at the head in his arms. Memories of last night bombarded him and he was left with the faint satisfaction that accompanied with the morning after a night of terrific sex.

He had never done anything like that before, and he had expected it to hurt a lot more. Everything he had heard from his elder housemates had been that sodomy for the first time was very painful. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that it was with only a moderate twinge of discomfort that Harry had entered him, which had soon faded to pleasure anyway. He supposed he had done it so often that this body was used to it. This thought gave him a sense of gratification, although he wasn't sure why.

"Bloody sun," Draco said, and Harry stretched.

"You sore?" he asked.

"No," Draco replied truthfully, "didn't really hurt." Harry nodded and yawned widely, his jaw cracking.

"What's the time?" he asked and Draco disentangled himself to roll over and look at the clock.

"Ten past eleven," he said with a trace of surprise. "Merlin, we slept late."

"All the exhaustion from last night," Harry said with a wicked grin which Draco couldn't help returning.

"You had fun, then?" he asked.

"Technically I got to both watch the show and take part in it," Harry said, thinking back to his dream.

"Yeah, well, my dream was really mundane," Draco grumbled, envious that Harry got to watch them having sex as well as practicing it.

"Ah," Harry said in mock sympathy, "poor Draco, can I make it better?" he began to kiss a trail of fire along each of Draco's fingers.

"I daresay you can," Draco grinned, and was just lowering himself onto Harry when the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell can that be?" Harry asked, his brows knitted in confusion.

"I'll go and see," Draco sighed, pulling on a black jumper and his boxers. He went out to the door and peered through the eyehole that looked onto the corridor outside. "It's Hermione!" He called to Harry.

"Let her in then!" Harry shouted back, busily making himself look presentable. Draco opened the door to see Hermione standing there smiling.

"Hello," Draco said, "why didn't you floo over?"

"I was visiting a muggle this morning," Hermione said, walking through the door that Draco held open for her, "and I came straight here; their fireplace wasn't connected to the floo network."

"Hi Hermione," Harry said, coming out of the bedroom, now appropriately dressed. "what's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," Hermione said, sitting down tiredly and conjuring herself a cup of Darjeeling, "I just thought I'd come over and see how you're doing, you haven't been to the library in a couple of days."

"I know," Draco said, sitting down next to her, "it feels like we've been through every potion book you own, and yet nothing." Hermione frowned,

"Really?" she asked. "Well that can only mean that the spell you used in the past was something that is now banned."

"What do you mean?" Harry looked confused.

"Fudge's successor was a wizard called Adrian Stickweed," Hermione said, "and he was a very controversial choice, because of his extreme policies. It was at the height of Voldemort's power, though, and so we needed a strong leader for the magical world. Anyway," she went on, "he believed that Voldemort was using an archaic method of mind control that couldn't be detected by Aurors in the same way that the Imperius curse can."

"Was he?" Harry asked curiously.

"Ironically enough," Hermione said, "you would be the only one here able to tell us. You knew more than anyone about Voldemort's actions."

"Because of the connection?" Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead.

"Partly," Hermione said, "and partly because you were part of the team of Aurors that were tracking his movements. I, for one, have no idea what he was doing, you never spoke about work to any of us."

"Oh," was all Harry said.

"It doesn't matter," said Hermione reassuringly, "none of us liked talking about Voldemort when it wasn't strictly necessary."

"So what did Stickweed do?" Draco prompted.

"He had always had a passionate mistrust for anyone who practiced an amalgamation of two kinds of magic," Hermione said. "He used Voldemort as an excuse to destroy many thousands of books devoted to the perfection of that art. He thought that Voldemort was using a combination of runes and herbs to control the minds of large masses of people, thereby forcing them to commit horrible atrocities. If the potion you used was anything that could be used for mind control, all evidence of it would have been destroyed." A hot swoop of anger was settling on Draco's stomach.

"Twat!" he yelled out. "Now how are we expected to get home?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, "all I can think of is making a potion of your own."

"That's what you've been preparing, isn't it?" Harry turned to Draco, who nodded.

"Yeah, but I don't know how long it will take to gather potency," he said, rubbing his temples.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said firmly, "I didn't think the potion you used in the past would have been dangerous enough to be included in the ban, I'll keep looking. Just work on the potion in case we can find no other alternative."

"Ok," said Draco, but he felt downhearted.

"What have you two been up to, then?" Hermione asked conversationally. "Been getting along together alright?" The question was probably completely innocent, but the immediate twin flushes that rose to both Harry and Draco's cheeks alerted her to something between them.

"Not too bad," Harry said evasively.

"What are you hiding from me?" she asked shrewdly and Draco watched her eyes rest on Harry's crumpled hair and shy grin, before flicking over to himself, and he knew he looked as if he had been thoroughly shagged. "Oh, I see," she said with an annoyingly knowing grin.

"What?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised that she could figure it out.

"I always knew you were psychic," Draco said.

"Not psychic," Hermione replied, "but I do have eyes, and you two have been sneaking glances at each other all morning."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't interrupted earlier..." Draco left the sentence hanging in the air, and Hermione's eyes twinkled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "feel free to get right back to doing what you were doing as soon as I am gone. Which won't be long, I've got a lunch meeting in half an hour."

"How's work?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject from his sex life.

"Not bad," Hermione said, "I've been working on a new Shatter charm. It's supposed to produce a hairline fracture in an object you want to dispose of cleanly, but it's a little strong at the moment." She pointed her wand at a vase that stood on a table in the corner and muttered something under her breath. Immediately it exploded with a deafening crash and set the table on fire. "See?" she sighed.

"Impressive," said Draco, who had jumped three feet. Harry got up and calmly extinguished the flames.

"It's getting there," Hermione said. "Anyway, how are you getting on? You've been here for ages now."

"Missing the old us that are actually the future us but are now stuck in our past technically making them the old us?" Draco asked, confusing even himself.

"You're not that different," Hermione remarked, "although you, Draco, are a bit more of a prat, and you, Harry, get pissed off much more easily."

"Thanks," Draco said, surprised at Hermione's bluntness.

"Don't look at me like that," she chided, "I'm just telling you what I see. The Draco from school was in no way as nice as the Draco I have come to know and love."

"And the Hermione from school was a little less brusque," Draco pointed out, glowering.

"I know," Hermione smiled sweetly.

"Play nicely, children," Harry said absent-mindedly.

Hermione stayed for a brief time in which they discussed all the possible methods of concocting a potion for returning back to their own time. Harry, whose limited expertise was of little use, soon grew tired of all the potions talk and went to take a shower. When he was washed, dressed and feeling decidedly more ready to face the day, he sauntered around the bedroom, idly looking for something to amuse himself with. His eyes rested on the handsome black, leather box that he had found a couple of days ago and had yet to open.

Whilst hunting through his wardrobe, Harry had come across this box covered in clothes and well hidden behind his impressive display of shoes. His curiosity had been sparked immediately and he had lugged the surprisingly light box out and examined it closely. It was very handsome, forged of black leather and embossed with the initials H J P in gold across the top. It had elaborate gold hinges and a large padlock chaining it together, which didn't have a keyhole, but just had a smooth hollow where the keyhole should have been. Harry had tried all sorts of unlocking charms to open it, with little success. He supposed that he had fashioned some advanced spell to protect it, which his past self didn't have the expertise to break.

He had just pulled it onto his lap when he heard Hermione yelling goodbye and the door shut. Draco came in a few seconds later.

"What's that?" he asked inquisitively, sitting down on the bed.

"A box I found in the wardrobe," Harry said, frowning at it, "but I can't open it, I've tried every spell I can think of."

"It's not protected by a spell," Draco said simply, holding the padlock in his palm. "This is a security device in itself, only a certain fingerprint will unlock it."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I've never seen one of these before."

"Well, you're muggle-born," Draco stated with none of the derision that would once have laced such a declaration. "You wouldn't have." He got up and disappeared into the bathroom and Harry pressed each of his fingers against the hollow in the padlock, feeling a quiver of excitement as it sprang open when he pressed his right thumb against it.

Opening it, Harry felt the hinges creak and the scent of old leather filled the room. He realised at once why the box was so light, it was full of letters, scraps of parchment, photographs, both wizarding and muggle, and scrolls. Picking a couple out at random he laid them on the bed and began to read. He found letters that he and Draco had written to each other during their first year apart after Hogwarts. Harry scanned these eagerly, his throat tightening as he read what Draco had written to him.

Harry,

I got your last letter this morning. Hedwig (is that her name?) pecked me on the hand so hard it made me bleed. If you send that sodding bird again I will personally shoot her and put her in a pie.

You asked if I miss you. I wouldn't know, I've never missed anyone before in my life, I've never cared enough. If missing you is having a gaping chasm in the middle of my chest, wanting to run to wherever you are, and feeling miserable all the bloody time, then yes, Harry, I do miss you. I hope you are missing me. You didn't say in your letter and I am trying not to care, but I do, I care more than I would ever let on.

You said you can't stop thinking about me, well I feel the same. You are in every mirror, every pair of eyes, every laugh I hear. I think of you first thing in the morning and I hate you last thing at night because you are not with me. I don't love you because I don't know what love is. All I know is that I need you more than anything else and you are not here, and it has to be this way.

In three weeks I am leaving for Zakynthos, and in the golden light that spills from a Grecian sunset I know that I will be thinking of you. The Ancient Greek soldiers fought so hard to defend each other in battle because they were encouraged to take each other as lovers, did you know that? I know that you would defend me with your dying breath, because you love to be the hero. You would love Greece, you should be there instead of me. Do not think that now you are not here I will be fucking indiscriminately. No-one but you has ever made me care. I hate that you can do that to me, that I can't forget those laughing green eyes.

The Auror training sounds perfectly disgraceful. You had to fight a Manticore? Alone? I hope whichever hospital you're in is treating you well, but then again, famous Harry Potter gets treated like royalty wherever he goes.

Autumn is coming, and with it the stench of death. The grounds here are littered with rotting leaves, their skeletons turning to dust as the winds howl through the moors. The Manor is so cold and empty. I can hardly bear it. My mother is not back and I have heard nothing from her. The place is becoming like a prison. It has lost all the grandeur I beheld in it in my youth. The portraits are silent now, and they skulk and hide whenever I pass. Cobwebs amass like venomous nets and dust settles on anything stationary for more than a moment. I hate it here, Harry. The colours are all fading to nothingness, the silver has lost its gleam and has become tarnished, like the Malfoy name. I have nothing left here, and if I stay much longer I'll be reduced to a ghost of myself. A shadow.

Isn't that what you used to wish I'd be? You wished I wouldn't walk down the corridors so proudly because you hated the sight of me. You hated that I made you feel. You trained yourself in the art of apathy and I broke that, didn't I? Well now I'm becoming a shadow and you're not here to see it. You're not here at all. I want you so much I can hardly breathe and I spend hours writing to you because the silence here is so oppressive. There is no peace in a prison, and this one, though very fine, is turning me mad.

Another ex-Slytherin was killed today. My friends? I had none. None that I really knew. But that was the way with us, you wouldn't have liked it. I remember watching you, the Holy Trinity we used to call you, and I would be so jealous. I would see Weasley standing by your side and I would want to run and tear him away from you. I would want to kiss you over and over again, with everyone watching.

During the day, our pretence was flawless, wasn't it? You wouldn't suffer me to speak to you, and I wouldn't suffer your presence. But at night, you would bite down hard on my lip and tell me why I wasn't worthy of you. With the same breath you would liken my skin to the alabaster Apollo that stood in ruined temples, tell me how my eyes were like the heavens' stormy maelstrom. You were always a contradiction to me. You still are.

I cannot see you or talk to you, but I can know that you are reading my words. The trees whisper your name malevolently to me as I pass them. The world won't let me forget you. You are scratched upon me, and how I love you for that.

This may be the last thing I send you until I am returned, unless my owl fancies a really long trip. Know that I'm thinking of you, and that it hurts. Take whatever grim satisfaction in that you please.

Yours, always yours,

Draco.

Harry laid the letter aside, deeply moved. The letter was dated a mere year after they would have left Hogwarts. How could his relationship with Draco had developed so fast? In their own time, they still hated each other. They would argue and fight and exchange pithy slurs whenever they met. Harry had to admit, though, when reading the letter, he was struck by the sense of truth that seemed to permeate the words there. Draco's emotions were mirrored somewhat in himself. He tried not to care about anything that happened. He had perfected apathy and used it to protect his heart from everything that happened at school. No matter what he did, though, Draco was a voice he couldn't drown out, a presence he couldn't ignore. Draco made him feel, in a way no-one else could. Harry had never understood that before.

The handwriting was elegant and scrawling. There were many similar letters, all dated around the same couple of years, after which the correspondence seemed to have stopped. Returning the letter to the bundle from whence it came, Harry leafed through the various other pieces of parchment that were stacked more haphazardly. These were covered in scrawls, diagrams and scribbled notes of his own handwriting and he pored over them. They seemed to be pages devoted to working out what the Death Eaters were doing.

Harry saw names of known Death Eaters circled, with arrows pointing away from them towards various other names or places. There was a sketchy map on which he had labelled many names followed by question marks, crossed them out or drawn crisscrossing lines across the world, mapping movements, documenting attacks. There were pages and pages of writing like this. Scribbled, frantic, obsessive notes. There were pictures of Death Eaters in their hoods, all frowning maliciously from their photos.

There were horrific images of families, lying slaughtered, children covered in blood, their bodies horribly disfigured. There were hundreds of pictures like this. He saw photographs of women which had been defiled, their dignity stripped as their corpses were left propped up, their legs splayed. On the back of all these were names of Death Eaters who had done this and their last known location.

Harry also found a list of Voldemort's allies, with some names crossed off as they had been killed by Aurors, with lists of their crimes written beside each name. Harry's heart began to thud painfully in his chest. Hermione had been right, he was obsessed. He flipped open a muggle notebook. Every page was devoted to the same subject, every page covered in scribbles and question marks and neurotic scrawls about Voldemort.

Harry slammed it shut. Sickened.

He couldn't believe that he had let himself get like that. These weren't the casual notes of someone who took a mild interest in current events, these were paranoid and suspicious, with every name imaginable listed as questionable.

"What's the matter?" Draco came out of the bathroom, towelling his hair dry.

"These." Harry motioned to the parchment covered in his writing. "She was right, Draco, I was obsessed with fighting the Dark Arts. Look at this." He held up a complicated flow chart that began with wild accusations and didn't even end in anything concrete. "There are hundreds of them." He sounded jaded and weary.

"You had more reason to worry than anyone else in the world," Draco pointed out, "you have been a marked man for twenty five years."

"Still," Harry said, "I was absolutely paranoid. I suspected everyone, even you."

"Me?" Harry pointed to where he had written Draco's name followed by three question marks. "Well, I suppose my father is a Death Eater." Draco sighed and Harry looked surprised.

"You're taking my mistrust of you with admirable aplomb," he said.

"Well with a history like ours," Draco said, "I wouldn't expect anything less." Harry still looked downcast. He had spent so many years fixated upon the darkness. How much time had he wasted fighting it? Draco seemed to sense his worries because he put his hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the corner of the mouth.

"Stop thinking about it," he said firmly, "or I'll hit you."

"Huh?" Harry looked up suddenly. "How's that supposed to help?"

"It won't," Draco shrugged, "but at least I stopped you thinking about it, if only for a moment." Harry laughed and it seemed as if a great weight had slipped from his shoulders. He rested his head against Draco's for a moment, and felt very much like a boy again.

That weekend found Harry, Draco and some of their friends sitting in a trendy café on the corner of a street near Deansgate. In the midst of copious amounts of chrome and oddly shaped tables, the men were having a drink while they waited for Hermione, Ginny and Lavender to return from a morning's shopping.

"How long are they going to be?" Sean complained, "I'm hungry." he was looking at his watch for the thousandth time.

"They wouldn't mind if we started without them, would they?" Draco whined and Harry laughed,

"You think way too much about food," he said, kissing him quickly on the lips. Draco wasn't facing him directly so he had to turn slightly so Harry could kiss him properly, their mouths lingering together longer than was strictly necessary.

"Do you mind?" Ron looked faintly nauseous across the table.

"I would have thought you'd be used to it by now," Harry said, smiling slightly, his lips tingling. He felt Draco's hand move to his knee under the table.

"It doesn't mean I have to like it," Ron persisted,

"Oh stop being such a prude," said Sean good-naturedly, "they're young and in love. Much like you."

"We don't complain when you and Lavender kiss in public," Draco said, his hand moving just a little further up Harry's thigh. Ron muttered something incomprehensible that sounded suspiciously like, 'well at least that's _all_ we do in public,' which both Harry and Draco chose to ignore.

"Ok, my round," said Sean, standing up, but he was saved from buying drinks by the arrival of Hermione, Lavender and Ginny who crossed the road to meet them, talking and laughing.

"Hi you guys," Harry said, being a gentleman and taking the girls' bags so they could sit down, "how many shops did you buy out today then?" he asked, looking at the number of heavy bags.

"Oh just a few," Hermione said, kissing Sean and sitting down.

"What did you buy?" Draco asked curiously and for the next ten minutes or so, every garment was taken out and scrutinized before the men commented appreciatively on the wisdom of the purchases.

"You spent _how much_ on a handbag?!" Sean exclaimed suddenly, looking at a black, leather shoulder bag Hermione was now sporting and looking rather guilty about.

"Darling, four hundred pounds isn't that much," she was saying in a placatory manner, "especially not for Anya Hindmarch."

"Who?" Sean threw up his hands in confusion, clearly thrown by the idea that anyone would be willing to spend such an extraordinary amount of money on a bag. "Good thing I never got round to buying drinks," he said disconsolately, "I don't think we're going to be able to afford to eat for a month or two."

This ritual seemed of vital importance and could apparently not be overlooked, so a considerable amount of time had passed before any food was actually ordered. As they were all eating and talking, Draco was struck by a realisation he hadn't had before. Looking around the circle of friends, he was forced to admit that many of them were perfectly amiable, but not a single one had been a Slytherin.

None of these people had been one of his friends, he hadn't been friendly with any of them at Hogwarts. He had been wondering what had become of the Slytherins for a while now, without voicing any of his thoughts to Harry. He had flipped through the black, leather address book that sat by the telephone when Harry wasn't home and had not been impressed by what he found there.

There were hundreds of phone numbers and addresses, many of which Draco didn't recognise, but not a single one of which belonged to anyone he had been friends with at Hogwarts. The absence of any Slytherin names had been immediately conspicuous and Draco thought it was highly unlikely that he would have lost contact with all of his old friends.

He hadn't spoken to Hermione about this because he was partially afraid of the answer she might give him but now, as he sat among so many ex-Gryffindors, he was eaten up by curiosity as to the fates of his friends.

"I was thinking," he said, mock casually to Ron.

"Careful," Ron said, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"About the Slytherins at Hogwarts," Ron looked up, startled.

"You were?" he asked.

"I've almost forgotten what became of them," Draco said, careful to keep his voice down, careful to look nonchalant.

"Yeah, well," Ron sighed darkly, "after the first one turned it became hard to keep track, didn't it?" _First one turned?_

"Hmm," Draco murmured, hoping for more information, his insides squirming uncomfortably.

"I mean," Ron went on, shovelling pasta into his mouth, "after Pansy Parkinson declared her support for Voldemort, it became something of a fashion."

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten Pansy was first," Draco lied and Ron gave him a funny look.

"I'll never forget when she stood up in the Great Hall and screamed that 'the Dark Lord was coming' before collapsing," Ron shuddered. "I've never seen anyone laugh so maniacally. Imperius Curse of course, but you were abroad when Aurors investigated her case."

"Yeah," Draco said carefully, "You know, I never really found out all the details."

"I envy you," Ron said, "some of the stuff that came to light was dreadful."

"Like what?" Draco asked, burning with curiosity.

"Well you probably know most of this, despite the Ministry hushing it up, but there was Blaise Zabini," Ron said, looking thoughtful, "he killed four families before Aurors managed to lock him in Azkaban. He's still there as far as I know."

Draco dropped his fork in shock. Blaise? His Blaise? Best friends for years and he would never have thought he could commit such a terrible deed. He knew his look of utter surprise must seem very suspicious so it was with some difficulty that he feigned indifference.

"Who else?" he asked, not trusting his voice to remain steady for long.

"Well Pansy is still in St. Mungo's, but you know that of course," said Ron, "in one of the long-stay wards. Voldemort's curse really affected her brain. There was MacDougal who gave her own child to Voldemort to be raised as a vessel for his power, there were Crabbe and Goyle. You remember what they did."

"Oh, yeah," Draco said, "of course."

"I'll never forget reading about that," Ron mused, "it was on the front page of the Daily Prophet. 'Death Eaters Goyle and Crabbe Kill Minister for Magic.' I'll never forget that headline as long as I live. I think it was the fact that we knew them, you know? It made everything seem a lot more real." Draco was stunned into speechlessness. His salad lay neglected as he stared, openmouthed, at Ron. "Hey, are you ok?" Ron asked, perceiving Draco's distress.

"Fine," Draco said distantly, looking away.

"I suppose it must be horrible thinking about it," Ron said. "I remember when you announced your allegiance to Dumbledore. You lost half your friends that day, and the only ones that stayed loyal to you were the ones that really loved you. It must have been really hard."  
"Yeah," Draco said, completely lost in thought, "it was very hard." He glanced at Ron to seem him looking very worried all of a sudden.

"Draco?" He waved his hand in front of Draco's face. "Anyone in?"

"Sorry, Ron." Draco shook his head as if to try and shake the thoughts from his mind. "I was miles away." Ron didn't look satisfied but returned to his meal nonetheless, and Harry, taking advantage of his inattentiveness, leaned close to Draco.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"No," Draco said, feeling rather lost and bewildered. "I just asked, obliquely, what became of all _my_ friends after Hogwarts and they're all either murderers, insane or locked in Azkaban."

"Oh Draco," Harry breathed, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Draco said, more snappily than he intended, "it's not your fault." An embarrassing wet heat was pricking behind his eyes and an uncomfortable lump had formed in his throat. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, getting up so suddenly he made everyone jump and heading for the door marked 'Gents'.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Ginny worriedly. "He looks like he's about to cry."

"I dunno," said Ron.

Sean frowned. "What were you talking to him about?"

"He was talking about his friends from Hogwarts and about the stuff that happened to them after we left school," Ron said.

Harry noticed Hermione look up sharply. "What did he say?"

"Nothing much," said Ron, shrugging bemusedly. "That was the funny thing, it was as if he needed reminding of everything that happened. I think it brought up all the betrayal again."

"He'll be out in a minute," Harry said soothingly, although he exchanged a worried look with Hermione.

Draco spent a good five or ten minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose himself and stem the angry tears that threatened to flow. He didn't know what he had expected when he broached the subject of his old friends, but to hear that each of them had succumbed to the darkness was more terrible than Draco ever imagined it would be.

It suddenly struck him how little he actually knew the people he spent every day with. They were effectively his family and they still had the power to surprise him like this.

Pansy, his darling Pansy. They had been friends since birth, lovers for a brief time and still the closest of companions after that. If Draco loved anyone it was her and she was now insane and lay in St. Mungo's branded with the Dark Mark. Draco couldn't believe it was true, and yet knew it to be so. He had thought he had known Crabbe and Goyle, his cronies, his bodyguards. They had shared everything, they had protected him form every conceivable danger and their adult selves had killed the Minister for Magic. Draco didn't know what to think or to believe any more. He felt as though he was falling very fast, and the sensation was eerily dizzying.

He clamped his hands to the cool ceramic of the basin to steady himself and splashed liberal amounts of cold water in his face. The sight of himself in the mirror was enough to bring him back to a painful consciousness of what was going on and he realised he needed to pull himself together if he was to face the others again.

He just couldn't believe what Ron had been saying. It all seemed very unreal. In that moment Draco made a vow to himself. If he ever got back to his own time, he would try to change what had happened, he would make things better, for his friends if no-one else.

Composing himself, he pushed open the door and returned to the anxious faces at the table.


	9. Curse of a Memory

Chapter 9: The Curse of A Memory

Love's the funeral of hearts  
And an ode for cruelty  
When angels cry blood  
On flowers of evil in bloom  
The funeral of hearts  
And a plea for mercy  
When love is a gun  
Separating me from you  
  
She was the sun shining upon  
The tomb of your hopes  
And dreams so frail  
He was the moon painting you  
With its glow so vulnerable and pale

Funeral of Hearts - HIM

That evening, Hermione's excitement was infectious. She had invited Harry and Draco over to discuss something with them, sounding sufficiently secretive to incite their inquisitiveness and ensure that they came.

She was standing in her living room, pacing backwards and forwards when they flooed over and manifested out of the fireplace, coughing with the soot.

"Hi," Harry said, coughing again.

"You're here!" Hermione exclaimed happily.

"Yeah," Draco said, a little taken aback, "what's up?" Hermione's face was jubilant and she was practically dancing on the spot.

"I think," she said slowly, "I might have found a way to send you home." She paused for their reaction, which was predictable and gratifying. Harry took her in his arms and kissed her, while Draco laughed and punched the air for joy.

"You have?" he asked. "What is it? A potion?"

"A spell," said Hermione, moving over to a side table and picking up and ancient-looking book. "A spell that allows the subject or subjects to transport their minds from body to body. Or in your case, through time."

"Like a spell version of the potion we took in 1996?" Harry asked eagerly, his eyes alight with happiness.

"Pretty much," said Hermione, "and I think it will work, too."

"What makes you so sure?" Draco asked, his silver eyes narrowing.

"Don't you trust me?" Hermione said with a teasing grin.

"Of course I do," Draco said. "I'm just wondering." He had never heard of such a spell before and wanted to be certain that it wouldn't end up splinching them.

"It's basically the same concept that you described to me," Hermione said, double checking over the crumbling pages of the spell book. "You want to transport your conscious mind back into your seventeen year old bodies, correct?" she asked, looking up at Draco.

"Uh-huh," he replied slowly.

"Well that is exactly what this spell should do, with a bit of tweaking," she said, with an air of such confidence that her latter three words went unnoticed for a moment.

"Define tweaking," Harry said nervously.

"Well its original purpose was to allow someone to swap bodies with someone else," Hermione replied, frowning slightly, "but with a little rewording, it should work to swap bodies over a length of time."

Harry suddenly looked uncertain after hearing this particular piece of information. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"Deadly," Hermione did look very sure of herself.

"It's all we have," Draco said to Harry, shrugging.

"Let's do it," Harry said with the air of someone steeling themselves to do something they have a feeling they are going to regret.

"Can you do it today? Now?" Draco asked, an excitement building within him.

"Yes," Hermione said firmly. "I just need to do some preparation first."

By 'some preparation' it soon became clear that Hermione had meant an hour of cleansing, meditating and grounding to perform what became increasingly obvious as a highly difficult magical feat. Harry and Draco grew more and more uneasy as they watched her prepare, wondering for the life of them what this spell was going to entail, and why it required so much thought and work.

"Are you ready yet?" Harry asked gently, when Hermione re-entered the room holding her slim, ash wand.

"Yes," she said, "I am." She looked slightly nervous. "I want you to stand back to back in the middle of the floor and hold hands," they did so, their hearts pounding in their breasts with enough force to leap from their bodies. Their hands were warm as they clasped them and Harry leaned his head back on Draco's shoulder automatically.

"Good," said Hermione, "I'm going to try and send you back at the same time, and I need you to be as close to one being as possible." Harry had been going to reply to that with something highly filthy, but managed to stop himself just in time.

"What next?" He heard Draco ask.

"This might feel a little strange," warned Hermione. "This spell will literally wrench your minds from your bodies."

"Is this safe?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Relatively," said Hermione. "I've managed to find a wand movement that corresponds with transfer over time instead of space. Instead of swishing it with an entire arm motion, you just do a simple flick of the wrist."

"It's that simple?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Hermione, looking back down at the page, "magic is just the harnessing of energy to bring about a desired end, but the method with which the energy is harnessed is based entirely on the correspondences used by the caster. Wand movements, herbs, planet alignments all correspond to a certain type of magic. The properties of the colour silver, for example, include clairvoyance, clairaudience, psychometry and intuition, etc. This makes silver a good supplement for a spell to enhance psychic powers. Do you see where I'm coming from?"

"I think so," said Harry. "But such a subtle change in the wand movement will have such great effect?"

"It should do," replied Hermione. "By changing the direction of the wand, it changes the focus of the energy, thus changing the spell itself."

"You sound very sure," Draco said, trying to reassure himself more than anyone else.

"I am," said Hermione, "this is the only thing I have come across which has a hope of working. Everything else looks extremely dubious."

"Go on then, Hermione," Harry sighed, "do your worst." She looked up for a moment and smiled.

"Nice to see you're so optimistic," she said. "Now, I need you to drink this." she poured a vial of some green liquid onto their tongues.

"What is it?" Draco asked, his face screwed up against the bitterness of the taste.

"A solution of iris, mint, thyme and sage that should protect your minds so that they won't be damaged when they returned to your own time." Harry gulped nervously.

"What next?" he asked.

"Now for the spell itself," Hermione said, holding out her wand. She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths before flicking her wand in a decisive, snappy motion. Immediately, a jet of pure, white light shot out of the end of her wand and snaked towards Harry and Draco. It grew into a bubble of light, swallowing them whole and cocooning them inside its pearlescent walls.

The light was faintly warm around them as it obscured Hermione's living room from view and wrapped itself around Harry and Draco. It smelt a little like burnt wood and was crackling with an almost electrical current that seemed to be surging through it, sending sparks to the ground and shining too brightly to look at directly.

They could feel the strange, ethereal heat emanating from it, and Harry gripped Draco's hands harder, hoping beyond hope that when he opened his eyes again, he would be back in his own body. He could hear Hermione chanting something from beyond their glowing orb. Her voice grew stronger and stronger with each syllable and the words, spoken in some forgotten language, seemed to twist and writhe in Harry's ears, forming nothing of any coherency, sounding like complete nonsense to him. There was a rhythm to her chanting, and Harry felt the light grow more piercing with every repetition. Hermione was pouring her own magic into the spell, giving it her strength, and Harry's heart began to lift as he thought that any moment he might wake up in his own body.

He felt his mind becoming steadily more detached. He was floating above the scene in the living room, watching as his body became enmeshed in the cocoon of light, watching Hermione chant still louder, her wand pointing at them. Harry felt sure that this was it, he was going home. Nothing could stop him now.

A blinding, searing pain attacked every nerve ending in his head and he screamed in pain. At once he was pulled back into his adult body, his mind diving back forcefully, crumpling Harry to his knees, making him grasp his forehead in agony. The pain was excruciating, worse than the Cruciatus Curse, and growing so bad, so intense, that Harry wanted to die. He wanted it to end.

He felt himself cry out with pain. He felt the light die around him, he could hear Draco crying out as well, could feel Draco's limp body next to him. He couldn't concentrate on anything, though, other than the piercing ache that was thundering through his skull with heels of iron. It drowned out everything and made Harry want to yell for death, for release. Anything would be better than this.

Suddenly, as suddenly as it had arrived, it stopped.

Harry's vision returned to him in full, colourful glory and he was able to look around, confused, nauseous and disoriented. The room stopped spinning and he was able to take stock of where he was and what he was doing, conscious that Draco, beside him, had also stopped writhing with the paroxysms of pain.

He was conscious also of a new figure in the room. Ginny Weasley was standing next to Hermione, her hand clapped over her mouth and her eyes wide with shock. She was staring at Harry and Draco, her face confused and horrified. Hermione was watching her warily, unsure of what to do, whilst she kept glancing worriedly at Harry and Draco.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Ginny cried suddenly. Seeing that the pain seemed to have abated, Hermione knelt down besides Harry and Draco.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously. "What happened?"

"Terrible pain," Harry muttered thickly, and Draco nodded, his mouth open, eyes dull with the aftershocks of the ache.

"It didn't work, huh?" Hermione asked sadly.

"Nope," Harry said, rubbing his head gingerly.

"What happened?" Draco asked. "I have never felt pain like that before, that was terrible."

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione looked as though she was about to cry, "I knew there was a possibility of that happening, but the chance was tiny."

"What?"

"Of the wand movement not working," Hermione said. "It should have done, theoretically, but I wasn't sure how effective it would be in practice."

"It's not your fault," Harry said, trying, unsteadily, to get to his feet. "We knew it was a long shot."

"But it was our only shot," Draco reminded him, also standing up and looking decidedly shaky.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked.

"I think so." replied Draco.

"That's what Cruciatus feels like," Harry commented dully. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"You could say that," Draco said and sank down onto a chair. Hermione was still looking guilt-ridden.

"I should have done something different," she said. "I'm so sorry I caused you so much pain."

"It doesn't matter," Draco said, "at least you tried. Now make us a cup of tea, will you? Or something stronger." Hermione conjured them both a scotch and helped Harry to the sofa where he slumped next to Draco.

"Better luck next time," he said weakly and they drained their glasses.

"Will somebody tell me," came a shaking, croaky voice from beside the door, "what the hell is going on?" Ginny was regarding them with a look of worry. "What were you doing, Hermione?" she asked.

Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "I don't think we can lie our way out of this one." Harry said glumly and Draco agreed.

"Ginny, we have something to tell you," he said, standing up and then deciding against it.

"We…er…" Harry said, not sure where to begin.

"We drank a potion," Draco said.

"In 1996," Harry added.

"Which transported our bodies here, instead of our minds."

"Which is what the potion meant to do."

"And it should have worn off."

"But it didn't."

"And now we're stuck here."

"And Hermione thought she had a spell to send us home."

"In 1996 Harry and Draco's seventeen year old selves took an immensely strong Pertho Draught," Hermione explained gently to Ginny, who was looking thoroughly confused, "which transplanted their past and present minds. These men have the minds of their seventeen year old selves, whilst their present selves are trapped in the past."

"What?" Ginny exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry said, "I'm actually the Harry you knew when you were in fifth year."

"And I'm the Malfoy you knew in fifth year," Draco said.

"You...?" she seemed to have been rendered speechless. She groped for the armchair beside her and collapsed into it. "How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Since the beginning of February," Harry said.

"And you kept it a secret all this time?" Ginny said. "It's March! How have you managed to do it without being detected?"

"Hermione," said Draco, "she knew from the start and has been trying to help us."

"You knew?" Ginny shot at Hermione, "And you didn't tell me?"

"The fewer knew about it, the better," said Hermione tentatively, "otherwise they would have been in danger. They're very vulnerable like this."

"You didn't trust me?" Ginny asked, a flash of hurt lingering in her eyes.

"This isn't about you, Ginny," Harry reminded her quietly. "We didn't think anyone should know."

"You have no idea how hard it's been," said Draco. "In our time, we hate each other, so the kissing wasn't much fun at first."

"Well, it was interesting," Harry said fairly, smiling mischievously at Draco.

"This is crazy," Ginny said breathlessly, "I can't believe it."

"I thought I had a spell that would send them home," said Hermione, "but it couldn't be adapted properly. Well guys, I'm afraid it's back to the drawing board."

"The what now?" Draco asked.

"Muggle expression," Harry explained. "Don't try to understand them."

"Are you feeling better?" Hermione asked.

"Much. That pain was pretty intense, though," Harry said, rubbing his head again.

"That would have been your body forcing your mind back into it against its will," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "No wonder it hurt."

Once Harry and Draco had returned home, the disappointment of their failure was beginning to sink in and they were shrouded by a noticeably morose air. They had stayed at Hermione's for an hour or two, in which they had tried to explain more articulately to Ginny, what had happened to them. There had been the nagging scrap of hope that she might have known something about the potion, but no such luck. She had promised to keep their secret, though, and to help them with their research in any way she could.

They both seemed struck by a sense of listlessness, and neither of them seemed able to amuse themselves for long. Their minds were on the options open to them, all of which seemed to point to the concoction Draco had been working on, as their last hope.

"Do you think you will be able to make a potion strong enough for both of us?" Harry asked.

"I should be able to," Draco said. "But it's a matter of collecting exactly the right ingredients and adding the exact quantities at exactly the right times. It's an incredibly complicated process, making a new potion."

"I never really appreciated that before," Harry murmured. "But if you think you can do it..."

"Oh it won't be easy," Draco warned, "and it will take me a long time to complete all the necessary calculations. One wrong ingredient and we could end up drifting about the astral plane for all eternity."

"Ah."

"But I don't think that's very likely," Draco said, resting his hand atop Harry's for a moment.

"I'm just disappointed that it didn't work," Harry said. "Hermione was so sure."

"I'm kinda glad it didn't," Draco replied. "If the rest of it was going to be that painful. I've never felt anything like that."

"Horrible," Harry shuddered.

"Never mind, we can always try again," Draco said, closing his eyes. There were shadows of pain on his face, sunk into the hollows beneath his cheekbones and beneath his eyes. He was no longer the bratty child. He was a man that had seen too much in his few years, and Harry could sense the darkness of his soul as a palpable force.

Lowering his mouth softly onto Draco's he pressed their lips together in the sweetest, most tender kiss he had ever initiated. Draco's hand slid round the back of Harry's neck, deepening their kiss and injecting a sense of urgency that made Harry want to take him, right here on the floor. He shifted towards him slightly and Draco pulled him onto his lap with such force that Harry was jolted forward into his arms.

Straddling him, Harry felt Draco's hand roaming idly over his back as they kissed, digging his nails into the familiar grooves, and sliding under his shirt to caress his naked skin.

Before either of them could stop themselves, they had both grown hard, and were grinding against each other, rocking backwards and forwards, Harry's warm weight heavy in Draco's lap, their mouths kissing and biting and tasting each other until they had no breath left.

"Aren't you the horny one, Potter?" Draco grinned against Harry's mouth and was rewarded with a vicious nip. "I'd never have guessed."

"And I'd never have guessed a Malfoy would be so into being bottom." Harry said, grinning back and feeling Draco bristle with irritation.

"Watch your mouth," Draco replied, tugging Harry forward to meet his lips again and duelling with him with the same fierceness that had defined their nocturnal encounters. "Just because you couldn't take it like a man."

"I'll have you know I am extremely fuckable," Harry said, grinding still harder against Draco who arched his head back, shivers of delight pulsating through his body.

Draco didn't answer him, he just plundered Harry's mouth one more time, before lifting him roughly from his lap. Together they stumbled blindly down the corridor, laughing softly, until they threw themselves down on the bed and Draco pinned Harry down by his wrists.

There was something about the way Harry was looking up at him, dark hair tousled, eyes gleaming like emeralds that made Draco wild with lust. His olive skin reflected the light shafting through the windows and the sight of his willing body, awaiting Draco, was enough to make the blond dive onto his mouth and kiss him over and over again.

"Extremely fuckable?" he asked. "We'll see about that."

A crumpled mass of clothes were thrown to the floor, a spell was uttered through swollen lips and every sound was drowned out in favour of the soul-wrenching groans of sheer ecstasy.

Exhaustion claimed them two hours later and they fell into the arms of sleep, tangled together, their limbs a knotted mass of completion, and sweat still shining on their skin. Draco fell asleep first and Harry looked at him blurrily, silver hair shining, skin like marble but so warm. His Draco.

Draco was dreaming again, but this one was anything but mundane. He could feel every emotion, every scrap of terror that flooded through his veins like crystalline ice. There was something ultimately dreadful occurring behind his closed lids and he was forced to watch it whilst his heart was rent into a thousand pieces and he wanted to scream with agony.

He was going to die.

He knew this, and he was afraid.

He was in Malfoy Manor, but it had changed. The glittering silver was as dull as lead, the portraits slashed and broken, dust lying thickly over everything. Draco could hear the raging winds and lashing rain of a terrible storm outside, as the steel bullets of raindrops hammered on the arched windows, a shrill, terrifying chorus of noise that nothing could quell.

He held his hands over his ears, trying to stop the noise, but to no avail. Lightning forked outside the windows and Draco jumped, his heart thudding painfully, his eyes wide with fear.

The manor was dark, and shadows were ghosting in every corner, flitting backwards and forwards through the rooms as the light outside the window changed, lending everything a much more eerie atmosphere. Draco's footsteps were light on the carpet as he padded through his once-beloved hallways, but he knew he must be silent, if he was ever going to get out of here alive.

The Death Eaters had surprised him. He knew that he was being hunted ever since he declared his support for Albus Dumbledore, but he had assumed he would be granted a grace period before being marked down as wanted by his father's colleagues.

He had known them all. Macnair had been to his house for dinner on countless occasions, had told Draco just how much he was looking like his father, what a fine man he was growing to be. Nott was the father of one of his best friends. So was Avery, Draco and his son had been lovers, and now they were trying to kill him.

They had lured him to the manor that night, knowing that he would come alone, knowing that he would be unprepared for their attack. They wanted to exact revenge for abandoning the cause. Becoming a Death Eater was a life sentence, and Draco had disobeyed his father and turned against them. He refused to be their pawn and now he was going to die for that.

As soon as he had entered the manor he had known something was wrong. The candlelight flickering in the gloom was silvery grey. The candles were enchanted, of course, but that colour was only used to illuminate the house during times of bereavement. The only time Draco had ever seen the house lit in such a melancholy fashion was after the funeral of his grandfather, when Draco was five.

He had known at once that something was amiss, and as he stepped through the heavy, oak doors, they swung closed behind him, trapping him in the house.

The candles had all flickered out at once, shrouding him in darkness.

He had pulled out his wand from his robes, but six tall, black shapes with hideous porcelain masks had snatched it from his hands and leered at him through the slits in their mimicries of faces.

"Master Malfoy," one had said in a voice that did little to hide his triumph. "How good of you to join us for the evening."

"What do you want with me?" Draco had asked, trying to keep the fear from telling in his voice.

"I think you know the answer to that." A single, skeletally white finger was grazing the side of Draco's face, leaving behind it a trail of ice so cold that it made his blood freeze.

"You abandoned us, little Draco."

"I will not bow down to your master," Draco spat. Arms gripped him and slammed him against the stone wall, knocking all breath from his lungs.

"You will," they said, laughing jeeringly, "or you will die."

"I choose death above servitude," Draco said, with a hint of the Malfoy pride he was so famous for. He knew now, though, that it was likely to get him killed.

"You are so foolish," that was Avery's voice. "If you swear fealty to the Dark Lord, we will spare your life."

"My life is of no value any more," Draco said in a voice of lead. "Do with it what you will." He knew he was sounding defeated and broken, but really something inside of him was screaming out that he didn't want to die. He was too young.

"You do not really want to die," Avery said, and stroked Draco's cheek again. Draco was struck forcibly by a fleeting emotion. Frederick, Avery's son, had once touched him in this way, but his caress had been of full of love. This was full of detestation.

"Let me go," Draco snapped, struggling uselessly against the strong arms holding him.

"I told your father you would be trouble," Nott said. "I told him you were too cunning for your own good, too delicate, too proud. You would make a traitorous Death Eater."

"Then let me go!" Draco shouted at them.

"Not until you reconsider our offer," Avery said harshly. "If you swear loyalty to the Dark Lord, and he has ways of maintaining that loyalty, you will die. We will give you two hours to think on it, and don't even think of trying to leave this house."

Draco couldn't respond before the six dark shapes had vanished in the flash of a bolt of lightning as it struck the grounds outside. He gasped for air, breathing hard, and tried desperately to tug at the iron ring that opened the front door. It wouldn't budge, the house had sealed him inside.

He ran, as fast as he could, up countless flights of stairs until he had reached what was once his bedroom. Slamming the door shut, he sank to the floor against it, his heart beating too fast, his limbs shaking. He knew that the Death Eaters were still in the house, hiding from him, waiting for the stroke of midnight when they would require him to make his choice. Draco knew what his choice would be. He had seen too much darkness to have be able to swear loyalty to it. He had seen so much horror that it turned his stomach to witness. He had seen blood enough to fill an ocean, and he couldn't commit any more crimes. It was too hard.

The darkness swallowed him like light.

The scene blurred, but when it cleared again, Draco was walking down the corridor, his ears pricked for any noise, his footsteps light. He knew he was in great danger. He had no wand to defend himself, the house was full of people who were going to kill him in under ten minutes, and he could find no way out. He had gone round every door and window he could think of, all were magically locked, and Draco was trapped. He had seen no sign of the Death Eaters, but he knew they were around. Occasionally he would hear a snatch of haunting laughter and dive behind a suit of armour. But it was as though the laughter was contained in the walls, as though it was the house that was jeering at him. Draco could not crumble. He would not. He had to find a way out of here.

A noise behind him made him turn at once to see who was there. A figure was moving through the shadows towards him, gliding in an almost ghost-like way. But this was no ghost, as the figure neared him, Draco was able to make out the image of his mother, her arms outstretched, her face smiling.

Instead of being comforted, Draco recoiled with horror. Narcissa's face was gaunt and pale, her once perfect hair was matted to her shoulders and her eyes were shining with a demonic glint that Draco had never seen before. Her skin was stretched taut over the bones of her skull and she was so thin that she looked more like a skeleton than anything else. Her smile was wide and manic, with a definite note of creepiness sliding into her countenance. Her dress was white and ragged, with strings of pearls hanging off withered collarbones and all the glorious jewels she had once possessed encrusted on her hands and throat.

Her skin was wrinkled and she looked like a terrible image of herself in forty years, a far cry from the elegant, graceful woman that Draco had once loved.

"Mother?" Draco croaked, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

"Draco, Draco, Draco." Her voice was high pitched and keening. "My Draco."

"What happened to you?" Draco asked, aghast.

"The Dark Lord is merciful," she said. "He loves me, Draco, he loves you, he loves Lucius." She looked as if she was going to cry. "Lucius, Lucius, Lucius. You are my light, Lucius, the light-bringer." She gave a horrible, tittering laugh.

"No, Mother," Draco said. "I'm Draco."

"Yes!" she snapped suddenly. "You are Draco. You betrayed me, Draco. You betrayed your father. He rotted in prison, he-" She made to move towards Draco in once, sudden movement, and then another voice echoed behind her.

"Draco, no!" It was Harry. Sprinting towards the pair of them, wand held aloft, Harry was running as quickly as he could, and Draco's heart leapt into his throat. He had to help his mother, though, she was crazed, she needed him.

She did not seem to have heard Harry's shout, she was still moving towards Draco, her arms outstretched, her fingers clawing at the air.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry bellowed, and a blinding flash of green light suddenly illuminated everything in sight. Draco shielded his eyes against the glare and fell to the ground as the spell blasted along the corridor. He was granted one, fleeting glimpse of his mother's face, contorted in terror, before she crashed to the ground. Dead.

She looked as though she had been dead for years. Her wasted skin hanging off her bones, soon to turn to dust.

Draco looked up. Harry was staring at him.

Draco woke up, drenched in a cold sweat and breathing so hard it was painful. His pulse was racing and blood pounded frighteningly loudly in his ears, making him temporarily deaf to everything that was going on. He found himself shivering, despite the warmth of the coverlet, and every part of him was shaking with the abject terror of what he had just witnessed. His mother, so broken and gaunt, had been killed by _Harry?_ It seemed too dreadful to imagine. He couldn't believe what he had just seen, the image was flashing before his eyes and he couldn't stop himself replaying it. The last ear-splitting scream uttered by his mother as she fell to the floor, all life snuffed from her body.

A movement next to him alerted him to Harry's presence. Draco looked down and shuddered, Harry's arm was lying casually across his thigh, his warmth melting into Draco, his face pressed close to where Draco's had been. They had made love for what seemed like hours but now Draco couldn't stand the sight of him. It was just too painful.

Dislodging Harry as gently as he could so as not to wake him, Draco moved out of bed and got dressed, feeling horribly cold. He felt as though he was in some numb dream where nothing was real. The sick, swooping sensation in his stomach reminded him that everything was very much real and he had just learnt how his mother had died.

Casting one look at Harry, sprawled peacefully in the bed, Draco went into the living room, which the first light of dawn was beginning to brighten. He sat out on the balcony, watching the sun rise without seeing it and thinking hard. He loved his mother and she loved him. He had always had a wary respect for his father which had overridden any true affection but Narcissa had always been the model parent, loving and attentive. She had doted on Draco, as a child, and had always slipped him treats when his father had reprimanded him, or taken him on days out with his friends. He had never been ashamed of her, or disappointed, she had always been the very essence of courtesy, love and affection and Draco had been very grateful for her presence in his life.

He could not believe that Harry had killed her. Merely seeing his mother so twisted and broken had been enough to make him sick, but seeing Harry wipe the life from her body had made Draco so angry that he could have killed him as he slept. How dare he take away the only person to ever show him any real love? Draco felt a hot, burning anger sweep through his body as his mother's last moments played themselves over and over in his mind until they were all part of one, inescapable tunnel of misery.

Harry didn't wake for another hour or two. He slumbered happily in bed, unaware that Draco was burning inside with an inexpressible fury. He knew that it was irrational to be angry at Harry, who had no idea what had happened, but that didn't stop him, so fervid was his ire. When Harry did wake up, it was to the unpleasant surprise of a cold bed. Draco heard him get up in the other room, put some clothes on before coming into the sitting room. Draco did not turn around from where he sat, frozen and motionless on the balcony. He heard Harry's soft feet moving across the room, before making their way towards him.  
"There you are," Harry said. "You're up early." He came up behind Draco and laid his hands on his shoulders, looking out where the sun was dripping liquid gold onto the spires of the city.

"Hmm," was all Draco said. He could sense Harry feeling a little put out, by the way the man lingered behind him, as if searching for something to say. He wondered if Harry thought he regretted their activities last night, and knew of the uncertainty that the ex-Gryffindor had to be battling with at that moment.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Harry asked, shivering and going inside.

"No," Draco said, with more coldness than he had intended. He heard Harry stop.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Draco muttered and knew at once that Harry didn't believe him. He sensed Harry shrug and attribute it to one of Draco's moods before vanishing into the kitchen and open all the cupboards.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked.

"Certain," Draco said quietly, but Harry heard him. He continued to watched the waking city beneath his feet, wondering if anyone felt as low as he did right now. He could hear Harry flicking through the pages of a newspaper as he ate a bowl of cereal and suddenly just couldn't bear to be in his presence any longer. That mouth, the one he had so wildly kissed, had been the one to send his mother to her grave. Those hands that had raked over Draco's back had held the wand that killed her. Draco couldn't stand it.

He got to his feet and crossed the room without looking at Harry, who sprang up at once and grabbed his arm before Draco could reach the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, a faintly accusatory note in his voice.

"Nothing." Draco tried to push past Harry who wouldn't let him.

"Bullshit!" Harry said. "Tell me what's the matter." His eyes, like emerald lances, seemed to spear Draco's soul. "Do you regret last night or something?" Harry asked and Draco could see a flicker of anxiety around his bewitching irises.

"No," Draco sighed, "that's not it."

"Then what?" Harry sounded frustrated.

"I had a dream," Draco said, "but I don't want to talk about it."

"What if Martin Luther King had said that?" Harry asked with a weak smile which Draco did not return. "Oh for fuck's sake, what did you see?" he asked, exasperated. "Did I cheat on you? Is that it?"

"No," Draco said and the same anger seemed to rise within him again, "something worse."  
"What?" Harry looked really worried now. "Please tell me, Draco, what have I done?"

"Don't say my name," Draco snapped, the words _'Draco, Draco, Draco, my Draco.' _were ringing through his mind. Harry flinched as though he had been bitten.

"What have I done?" he asked, slowly and determinedly.

Draco looked up at him and their gazes fused with such an intensity that emerald and silver were locked to the death.

"You killed my mother," Draco said in a voice as soft as sunlight and as cold as ice. A look of utter shock diffused over Harry's face and his arm dropped from where it held Draco's to land limply at his side.

Draco stalked out.

It was a second or two before Harry followed him, into the room next door where the piano lay. Draco sat at it and began to play a twisted, haunting melody that reflected his mood. Harry came and stood by him,

"What did you see?" he asked, and when Draco didn't answer he repeated the question in a voice that grated with anxiety.

"I saw you killing my mother," Draco said simply.

"How?"

"I was in Malfoy Manor, and she came towards me, her arms stretched out, you screamed 'no' and shot her with Avada Kedavra," Draco said, his fingers moving deftly over the keys, dancing a path of fire over the ivory, the music rising into a bitter crescendo, as if Draco was trying to drown out Harry's presence.

"I did what?" Harry sounded genuinely shocked.

"You killed her, Potter," Draco said and there was silence before he began to play again. This song was equally haunting but with a much more sinister quality.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, "I had no idea."

"You didn't even wait for me to help her," Draco snapped. "She was wandless and mad, she kept talking about my father, she wanted me to help her, and you killed her in cold blood." Harry didn't know what to say so Draco went on. "You didn't even say anything, you just stood over her body and looked at me. You didn't even fucking say anything!" he yelled and struck a grotesque chord with his trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry!" Harry yelled back. "But I have no memory of this, how can you be angry with me?"

"How?" Draco asked, standing up from the seat and fixing Harry with a frosty glare. "I don't care how old you were when you did it, Potter, it was still you. You murdered her!"

"What can I do about it?" Harry said. "Please, Draco, come on, you don't know what happened exactly. There might have been circumstances you're not aware of." He tried to grab Draco again but the blond just gripped Harry's arm painfully tight.

"I saw you murder her," he said in a voice that threatened to crack with emotion. "What else is there?"

"Draco, please," Harry looked upset and Draco faltered for the briefest of moments.

"Don't say anything," he said. "You took her from me. The only person to ever love me."

"_I_ love you," Harry said suddenly, then looked surprised at himself.

"Don't be stupid," Draco snapped.

"I'm not." Harry looked indignant. "I love you, Draco. I wouldn't hurt you." Draco made to leave again but Harry stopped him and made him look at him. "Tell me that you feel nothing for me beneath this anger," he said.

Draco didn't know what to say. He had gone from a bitter hatred for Harry to lust to something deeper that he couldn't define. Was it love? Not right now, right now he was so angry he could kill but he couldn't overlook the pleading expression on Harry's face.

God, he was so beautiful.

"If I did feel something for you," Draco said, "it can't survive this. I hate you for taking her away from me. My own mother." He shot Harry a look of such venom that he felt the other man flash with fury.

"You have no fucking idea of what you saw!" he yelled. "You don't know what went on or why!"

"I don't care!" Draco shouted back, "I just know that she's gone and it's all your fault!"

"I've had enough of this," Harry snapped, turning away. "I don't even remember it!"

"_You've_ had enough of this?" Draco bit back in a voice that would have frozen flame. "I'm going, you make me sick." He lingered just long enough to see the look of utter devastation flit across Harry's face before he slammed the door and stormed out of the flat.


	10. Of The Melancholy

Chapter 10: Of the Melancholy

__

Still a little bit of your ghost, your witness  
Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed  
You step a little closer each day  
Still I can't say what's going on  
  
Stones taught me to fly  
Love taught me to lie  
Life taught me to die

Cannonball - Damien Rice

I dislike arguments of any kind. They are always vulgar, and often convincing - Oscar Wilde

Draco didn't know where to go. The city was just waking up and only the earliest of workers were sitting in cafés or exiting their chic apartments ready for the day. They were like bees, swarming through the streets, hailing taxis or greeting friends.

Draco felt suddenly very alone.

He began to walk in a random direction, only narrowly missing being run over as he crossed a road in the path of a black cab. The driver sounded his horn and broke Draco rudely out of his reverie just in time to jump backwards onto the pavement and avoid certain death. He turned into a side alley and vanished into the darkness.

He didn't know where he was walking, just that he couldn't stop. Emotions of a thousand bitter kinds were sweeping through him malevolently, making him nauseous and dizzy. So much had been revealed to him that morning that he didn't know quite what to do, or where to go, and his limited knowledge of the city meant that before half an hour was up, Draco was quite lost.

He didn't care, though, he didn't care about anything any more. A single piece of knowledge was permeating his mind. His mother was dead, and Harry had killed her. Draco didn't know if he could hate someone so much, but he hated Harry more than anyone else in the world at that moment.

He hated him but a part of him was soaring. Harry had said that he loved him. _Harry Potter _of all people. Draco had never thought he would see the day and a strange elation had followed Harry speaking those words before it was quashed by the recollection that Harry was the reason his mother was dead.

Harry loved him? That thought was too bizarre to even contemplate and the twisted confusion that was Draco's mind was preventing him from remembering what he had said in answer to that. He had cast Harry's emotions aside as if they meant nothing and he had told Harry he hated him. He had told Harry that he made him sick, he had treated Harry more cruelly than anyone else in the world, the one person that actually loved him.

The image of Harry's face as Draco had slammed the door rose up again in his mind, more pitiful and desolate than Draco remembered. Harry had looked utterly distraught, not only by Draco's cruelty, but by the knowledge that he had done something to hurt Draco so deeply. It had been guilt on Harry's face. Even as Draco had been yelling insults at him, Harry had been feeling guilty for hurting him.

"Stupid, fucking Gryffindor." Draco kicked a wall, hard, and regretted it soon after as a throbbing pain revealed itself in his foot. A cat meowed loudly and sprang out of Draco's way as he stormed down the alley, he was so angry with himself and with Harry that he could barely think straight and he realised once more that he was getting himself very, very lost.

A couple of men skulking at the end of the alleyway fixed Draco with a malicious look and leered unpleasantly. They were heavily built and of the stinking brand of man that morning doesn't seem to touch and dens of iniquity seem to be full of.

"Can I 'elp you, sir?" one of them asked. Draco felt a slight pang of fear, all three of these men were much bigger and heavier than he was.

"Uh. No," he said quickly and made to walk past them. One of them put on hand on Draco's shoulder to stop him. Draco shuddered in disgust as the man began to slide his hand up Draco's neck to touch his face.

"Well aren't you the pretty one?" he asked, leering again. The other men laughed gutturally.

"Thanks," Draco muttered, keeping his eyes down and hoping his wand was in his pocket. One of the other men drew behind Draco and laid his hand on his waist. Draco could smell him, rancid breath and the sour stench of alcohol and it made him feel sick.

"Get off me," he said with a clenched jaw, his anger and revulsion rising with every breath. The men just laughed.

"I don't think so," one of them said. "We've been looking for a bit of entertainment, and you'll do just fine." Draco cursed the whim to walk down dark alleyways when there was no-one else around.

Screw the Statute of Secrecy, Draco plunged a hand into his pocket, drew out his wand and yelled, "Protego!" The men shouted in surprise as all three of them were hurled backwards into the wall by Draco's shield charm. They stared at him, eyes wide with shock. "Don't fucking touch me," Draco snapped icily before putting his wand back in his pocket and sprinting as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

He wandered around for another hour, carefully avoiding dark alleyways, until he came to a park. He didn't know it, but he chose the exact bench Harry and Hermione had been sitting on the day that he and Harry had been reunited. Draco sank down and rested his head against the wooden slats. He felt drained of energy, and had had to keep one eye open all day in case any of those men decided he was pretty enough to merit a second try.

He was free to contemplate everything that had happened in the relative peace of the park. It was a beautiful place, with the onset of Spring had come the blossoming of trees of pink and pearl and the delicate buds of roses bringing colour to the otherwise grey world. Draco saw it all with amazing clarity, the stark white and blue of the sky, the gnarled brown of the trees and the deep green of the grass. It was almost painful to behold and the beauty of the world struck an unpleasant contrast with the darkness in his mind.

He wondered why he had been drawn here. It was almost as if his feet were practiced at following the path to this place and they knew exactly where to come to console Draco. He felt a faint sense of nostalgia glimmering in the air but without any memories, he didn't know why this park was so familiar. It was a strange feeling that suited Draco's mood.

The sunlight that shone down from the heavens did little to warm him, and a chilly wind was blowing through the trees, making them sway dreamily against the sky.

Draco wasn't watching them. He was shivering with cold but his mind was still occupied with the troubles of the morning. His anger was fading now, and turning into a deep bed of pain within him, that he had been unable to stop his mother dying. He had been forced to admit that Harry might have been right, and Draco couldn't see the bigger picture, but it didn't make anything any easier.

"I thought I might find you here." A woman's voice woke him up and he looked to see Hermione standing next to him wrapped up warmly against the wind and looking dreadfully tired.

"Hello," Draco said miserably. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"This is where you and Harry met for the first time after all those years apart," Hermione said, sitting down next to him and looking out over the park. It was like an oasis of quiet in the middle of the bustling city. "It's become like your haven and I wondered if something might draw you here." Draco didn't know what to say. "Harry rang me," Hermione explained. "He's really upset."

"So am I," Draco sighed, "and I had to watch my mother dying."

"Harry is tearing himself apart over this," Hermione warned. "He's racked with guilt." Draco didn't answer, he didn't know how to. "He called me to say that you had had a fight and you stormed out. He's worried about you."

"I said such horrible things to him," Draco said.

"He didn't tell me any of that." Hermione looked slightly surprised. "He just said that he was very concerned about you."

"He killed my mother, Hermione," Draco said, breathless. "How am I supposed to deal with something like this."

"There were reasons, Draco," Hermione replied, looking him directly in the eye with the same piercing stare that reminded Draco so forcefully of the Hermione he was acquainted with at Hogwarts. "Things have happened that you are unaware of. There are circumstances."

"What?" Draco asked, sounding a little accusatory. "What are they?" Hermione sighed.

"You want the whole story?" she asked and Draco nodded, severely lacking in conviction. "Ok," she said, "but you're not going to like it. After your father was imprisoned for the second time in your seventh year, your mother left Malfoy Manor without a trace. You had just switched sides and joined the Order of the Phoenix and you and her had a terrible argument in which she blamed you for your father's incarceration." Hermione said slowly. Draco nodded, and gulped, his eyes betraying his searing pain at hearing this. It was like having his stomach kicked in and he could tell Hermione knew the effect it must be having by her worried look. "None of us knew how deeply involved in your father's work she was."

"She wasn't though!" Draco exclaimed suddenly. "She never touched the Dark Arts!" One of his earliest memories as a child was of hearing his father trying to persuade his mother to join him in his Death Eater missions for fear of incurring their lord's wrath, but she had always refused. He had always supposed that it was only out of a lasting love for his mother that Lucius had tolerated Narcissa's disobedience.

"Oh she was," Hermione said sadly, "during your time at Hogwarts we realised that she had been helping your father develop some of the more terrible curses used in muggle torture. She was as deep into the Dark Arts as he was towards the end, perhaps not so much when you were a child."

"Oh sweet Merlin." Draco put his head in his hands. "I never knew."

"I know." Hermione stroked his hair fondly. "I'm sorry."

"What happened next?" Draco asked, dreading the answer as his tormented mind struggled to come to terms with what he had already heard.

He felt Hermione sigh beside him. "The next part I only know from what Harry told me," she said. "He learnt of the danger you were in, that night you were trapped inside the Manor, and he managed to get in the house before it was sealed shut by the Death Eaters. He found your mother wandering the hallways, threatening death to you if she found you. She was half-mad but she still had a lot of magic left in her and Harry knew that if she saw you, she would kill you on sight." Draco had visibly paled. "I'm so sorry," Hermione said, "that you have to find out this way." She looked it, too. It was so horribly unfair that everything should have come together like this, that his life should quite literally have been torn apart and everything change so suddenly. It hurt more than Draco would ever have imagined possible and the feeling as though the ground had given way made everything a hundred times worse.

"She wanted to kill me?" Draco could scarcely believe it and felt instantly numb.

"She went mad," Hermione explained in as gentle tones as she could. "She left to go looking for your father, and when she couldn't find him, she turned to Voldemort. The various tests and punishments that he put her through thoroughly unhinged her. She didn't know what she was doing. Harry had no choice."

"Harry came after her?"

"He knew that you were in danger," Hermione said, "and he risked everything to protect you." Draco didn't know what to say, information was bombarding him and he couldn't take it all in at once.

"He saved my life," he said hoarsely.

"He did," Hermione sighed, "and he went against direct orders from his superiors who thought that a rescue mission would prove too dangerous because they didn't want to risk his life for yours."

"So he came alone?" Draco's eyes widened. "Stupid prat."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, smiling, "yeah, he is. But he's your stupid prat."

"God, I've been so evil to him," Draco said, suddenly recalling the argument with a renewed clarity. "The stuff I said."

"What did you say?" Hermione asked.

"I told him he made me sick," Draco said with a horrible sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "I told him that I hated him for what he had done and that any feelings I had for him could never survive a revelation like this."

"You said all that?" Hermione looked surprised.

"Right after he told me that he loved me," Draco said, smiling bitterly. "I just threw that back in his face."

"Oh," Hermione said, "I wouldn't worry about it, he sounded anxious more than angry and you know Harry, he can never hide his feelings."

"But I feel guilty," Draco said, shivering harder now as the wind picked up.

"Are you cold?" Hermione asked and he nodded, feeling the early morning chill step up in his veins. She took off her scarf and draped it around his neck. There was a strange sense of irony in the gesture, which was lost on neither of them.

"He'll forgive you," Hermione said. "How _do_ you feel about him?"

"I don't know," Draco said, looking at his hands. "I feel something, but it has just been overshadowed by anger and confusion. I don't know what it is anymore."

"Do you think you could love him?" she asked. Draco thought of the way Harry had looked that morning, sleeping next to him so peacefully, he thought of the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the way his skin glistened like bronze, the way he held Draco as if he never wanted to let go. Harry had given him so much warmth that Draco could hardly stand it. They had been forced to grow closer and from that had sprung a deep compassion that Draco knew had developed into something else. Harry made his heart race and his mind swim. Harry made every bitterness sweet.

"I think I do," he said wonderingly, coming to the realisation for the first time.

"

That's ok, then," said Hermione, "as long as he knows that, he'll forgive you."

"I'm still angry," Draco said. "I don't understand any of this."

"Of course you don't," Hermione said. "It's ok to be angry, it was a terrible thing what happened to you. You have to know, though, that Harry acted out of the deepest affection for you and he probably saved your life."

"I realize that now," Draco sighed.

"I'm going to leave you to think," said Hermione, standing up. "Ever since that potion went wrong, I haven't done a full day's work."

"Sorry." Draco smiled weakly, a smile he knew couldn't stretch to his eyes.

"I'll see you later," Hermione said, kissing him gently on the brow. "Bye, Draco."

She walked away slowly, her hands in her pockets. The knowledge of what had happened to his mother was made clearer by her explanation, but it did not make the burden of her death any easier to bear. Draco was thankful to her, though, for clearing Harry of any blame, but it made it much more difficult to hate him when Draco knew that what he had done, he had done for love. The guilt for what he had said was rising in him again and Draco wanted nothing more than to run back and apologise for the way he had treated Harry.

It had come as a shock to him to learn of all the pain and hardship they had gone through to lead them to where they were today. They had survived years apart, deaths, fights and treacherous Slytherins and they were still together. Draco couldn't fathom it. He would have thought that in a relationship where there was so much pain, the easiest thing to do would be to start again. His teenage mind couldn't understand how any two people could love each other so much as to survive all that.

It was beyond him.

He wondered, and not for the first time, if Harry and he were really right for each other. There seemed to so much darkness between them, so much that time could not forget, that Draco could not forget. He knew the right thing to do was to go back to the flat, take Harry into his arms and tell him he was sorry, but he couldn't do it. The image of his mother's face was imprinted in his mind and he felt a hot lump rise to the back of his throat. He wanted to shed those scalding tears, just for once.

Draco couldn't go back to Harry. Too much had happened for this to be a relationship that ever worked. He couldn't understand that two people could live with so much pain. Every time he looked at Harry he knew he would see Narcissa's withered face, and he couldn't do that any more.

The best thing to do would be to finish the potion to send them home as quickly as possible. That was where all this had started, and that was where it would all finish as well. Everything would be over.

Everything.

Draco rested his head in his hands and wept for the mother he had never truly known, and the lover he was about to lose.

Harry was sitting, alone in the flat, when Ron flooed over later that morning. He had spent hours worrying about Draco, wondering where he had gone, hoping he might forgive him. He had rung Hermione straightaway and she had given him a condensed version of what she had told Draco. Harry had been glad to learn of the circumstances surrounding the whole affair, and hoped that wherever Draco was, he would understand that Harry had done what he thought was right.

Hermione had told him that she had spoken to Draco and the Slytherin was feeling a little contrite but wanted some time alone to think. Harry had felt a great weight leap from his chest as he listened, happy to know that Draco was no longer angry at him. He had been waiting for him to return for hours, wondering how much time he needed and whether he should go out looking for him. He couldn't believe he had said what he had said. He wasn't sure quite how he felt about Draco but as the words had tumbled from his lips, they felt so right that he couldn't have taken them back if he tried. As Draco had said once, love wasn't just hearts and flowers. Lust could turn into love and the understanding you can only find in one person.

It was this Harry had found, and it was this Harry was so eager to hold on to.

Green flames suddenly shot into the grate. Harry knew it was to much to expect it to be Draco, but he expected it anyway, which was why he was very disappointed when Ron came sliding out.

"Hi," he said, dusting himself off.

"Hi," Harry said morosely.

"You don't have to look so pleased to see me," Ron said, frowning.

"Sorry," said Harry, "what's up?"

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Ron suddenly looked worried, "we need to go over to Grimmauld Place, Remus has just sent us word of those Death Eaters he's been tracking for six months."

"What?" Harry asked.

"You know, the ones that he had Kingsley and Tonks follow in France late last year," Ron elaborated. "The last remnant of the British Circle."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, having no idea of what Ron was talking about but too tired to question him further.

"Well, he's finally found out what their intentions are," Ron said.

"What are they?"

Ron suddenly looked very nervous. "They're…um…planning an attack against you and Draco."

"What?!" Harry leapt to his feet.

"Which is why you two have to come to Grimmauld Place, now," Ron said urgently, "It's the only place you will be safe."

"Why are they attacking us?" Harry asked.

"Well you're you," Ron said, "and Remus thinks Draco's been a target for months. Death Eaters have long memories and haven't forgotten how many trials he testified at." Ron looked even more concerned.

"Oh God," Harry said, grabbing his jacket. "Draco's not here."

"Where is he?" Ron looked worried.

"We had a fight," Harry was to be having trouble thinking straight, "he stormed out, I don't know where he is."

"Oh bugger," Ron said. "Would anyone else know where he is?"

"Hermione might," Harry said, "she went to talk to him for me."

"I'll contact her," Ron said. "You just get to Grimmauld Place now. The attack is planned for very soon but we're not sure on an exact time."

"Ok," Harry said, stepping towards the fireplace, "but Ron, you have to find Draco."

"I will," Ron said, "just go, quickly!"

Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder, threw it into the fireplace, stepped in and shouted, "No. 12 Grimmauld Place!" He was swallowed by the flame.

The next thing he knew he was stumbling out of the fireplace at the other end and being hauled to his feet buy a worn, callused hand. He found himself staring into the careworn face of Remus Lupin, best friend to his father and godfather.

"Harry!" Remus pulled him into a long hug, "It's been so long." he looked so old, older than he should have looked. His robes were patched and torn and his skin had a sallow quality that made him look extremely ill.

"Hi, Remus," Harry breathed, unhappy at the change which had been wrought in his friend. "I've missed you."

"We've all missed you, Harry," came the cockney accent of Tonks. She gave Harry a hug as well. "How are you getting on?"

"Fine," Harry said. "I'm ok."

"Where's Draco?" Remus looked worried.

"I don't know," Harry said quietly, the truth piercing him like a needle. "Ron's out looking for him. We…er…had a fight."

"Oh no," Remus said. "He's in serious danger if he doesn't get here soon."

"What have you learnt?" Harry asked.

"That the Death Eaters Macnair, Avery and Lestrange are on the move again," Remus said, leading Harry over to a gigantic map in which sparkling pins were glowing. "They have returned to Manchester from Bordeaux and are intending to ambush you either tonight or tomorrow morning. We aren't too sure."

"Bloody hell," Harry said, realizing suddenly how little his life had changed. "What I wouldn't give for a quiet life."

"I know." Remus looked sad. "That's why you gave up being an Auror, and it still hasn't stopped them." Harry was silent. "You'll be safe here, I've summoned Hermione, Seamus and the Weasley twins. Soon the whole Order will be here."

"Ok," Harry said, looking around at Grimmauld Place. It had hardly changed at all and he felt the same pang of longing that he always did as he remembered Sirius' last days here.

"Are you ok?" Remus asked, looking at him searchingly.

"Yeah," Harry said, "it's just this place." He looked at the floor.

"I know," Remus said, "I feel it too." There was a diversion in the form of Hermione sweeping into the room followed soon after by Fred and George.

"Hi, Harry," they said in unison.

"Hi."

"Ron can't find Draco," Hermione said, looking concerned, "he just told me."

"We have to find him!" Harry exclaimed.

"_You're_ staying here," Remus said firmly, "where you'll be safe." Harry would normally have contested this with every fibre of his being but as the realisation that he had only a teenager's knowledge of fighting the Dark Arts, he decided to take Remus' advice.

"Find him," he pleaded, the thought that he might lose Draco forever after only just discovering him was a present threat in his mind, "please."

"We will," Hermione assured him. "Come on you guys, lets go. Tonks, you take the lower half of the muggle quarter, Remus take the other half, Weasleys and I will scour the wizarding quarter."

"Ok," George said, "come on, we'll have to hurry."

One by one they disapparated.

Harry was left alone in the house, a house that he hated because it had been Sirius' prison. His thoughts were his companion but now they were in turmoil as he worried endlessly over Draco. He knew it was stupid, that the blond was more than capable of looking after himself, but it didn't stop the nagging feeling that grew at the back of his throat.

He knew that if Draco didn't want to be found, no power on the earth would make him reveal himself; he had a streak of stubbornness that would one day prove his downfall. Harry doubted very much that anyone would be able to find Draco. They would scour the streets for hours, visit every friend, every place they had frequented together. They didn't know Draco the way he did, he would want to be on his own, he wouldn't want to be found.

And yet, he would want a sense of familiarity, he would go somewhere he knew, but somewhere he could get some privacy and some alcohol. A thought struck Harry with the force of a lightning bolt and he got to his feet at once. What was that pub Draco had mentioned once? The Merry Mage? It was the only place in the city which Draco had been to alone, and Harry thought it was highly likely he would have gone somewhere like that at a time like this.

He looked at his watch, it was a little after one. If the attack was going to happen that afternoon, Draco needed to be rescued as soon as possible, and he was in great danger. Harry paced back and forth, wondering how he was going to contact any of the others, but Grimmauld Place didn't have a telephone, and Harry had no idea in hell how to Apparate. His eyes strayed over to the glittering pot that stood on the mantelpiece. He could floo straight to the pub, grab Draco and be back again before anyone realised he was gone.

Hesitating for the merest moment, Harry grabbed a sheet of parchment and scribbled a note on it just in case anyone came back to check on him whilst he was gone.

__

I think I know where Draco might be, but I didn't know how to contact anyone. I won't be more than a few minutes, I promise. If you need me I'm at the Merry Mage, which is a pub in Manchester.

Harry.

He took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the grate. Hoping very much that the Merry Mage was connected to the Floo Network, Harry cried,

"Merry Mage, Manchester!" before adding as an afterthought, _Draco had better fucking appreciate this._

The pub he arrived in was not the kind of place he expected someone like Draco to go. The windows were filthy, the bar sopping wet, the chairs lacked stuffing and the atmosphere was smokier than in an opium den.

Harry stepped gracefully out of the grate and took a good look around, his eyes scanning the room for a telltale flash of platinum hair bent over a glass of Firewhiskey. A few of the customers looked up in mild interest as Harry stepped into the bar area, before turning back to their drinks, grunted conversations or sticky packets of 'Pandora's Best Peanuts.' One quick glance told him that he had been right in assuming Draco would pick this place to hide in. He caught sight of the blond sitting in a corner booth, a large glass of some amber liquid in front of him, his eyes roving listlessly over his glass, fingers playing idly with a box of matches.

Harry paused for a moment, unseen, just to watch him. His lips quirked into a kind of smile as he saw Draco bat away the advances of a giggling, blonde witch who seemed to have taken a liking to him, before resuming his disconsolate silence amid all the noise of the pub. It was very loud in there, with several raucous dwarfs drinking heavily, all perched precariously on the high bar stools, only falling off occasionally, to be picked up by their fellows and offered another drink. There were hordes of young witches and wizards trying to get served, a couple of leprechauns sitting in a corner and booth after booth of haggard old men and women who were cackling at each other and playing Wizard's Chess on their tables. The room was wreathed in a bluish smoke which filled Harry's lungs with its malignant odour, making him cough involuntarily.

Draco was absorbed in watching the dust motes dance in the flecks of sunlight, and he didn't see Harry approach his table. Harry moved quietly, dodging a pair of hags, until he was standing almost directly in front of Draco.

"The entire Malfoy fortune at your disposal and you choose a place like this to hide," Harry said softly, and Draco looked up with a start.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, with an edge of hopefulness tinting an otherwise dejected voice. He sounded resigned, and Harry was a little unsettled. He took a seat next to Draco, close enough so that they were touching.

"I was worried about you," Harry said truthfully.

"You needn't be," Draco sighed. "I'm just surprised you want to be anywhere near me."

"You're a bitch," Harry said frankly, "you're mean, and you lash out when you're scared without thinking of the consequences. You said some awful things, Draco."

"I know," Draco replied through what sounded like a clenched jaw.

"But I know how upset you were," Harry said, "and I want you to know how sorry I am for what I did."

"Don't apologise," Draco said, still not meeting Harry's eyes, "Hermione explained some things to me, and I understand why it happened."

"Oh," Harry said, "well, good." He didn't really understand why Draco looked so wretched, he supposed it was the knowledge of how he lost his mother still eating away inside of him.

"I'm sorry I said those things to you," Draco said uncertainly. "I didn't mean them."

"Yes you did," Harry said, "at the time."

"Well I would take them back if I could," Draco said quickly and with a flash of irritation. "But Harry, so much has happened..." he struggled to get the words out and looked Harry straight in the eye for the first time. Harry was struck by the dreadful helplessness in Draco's gaze. He wanted more than anything to comfort him, to put his arm around him and kiss him, but he still wasn't sure what was wrong.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, resting his hand on Draco's knee.

"I don't see," Draco said slowly, "how we can go on being lovers when we know about all this. So many terrible things have happened between us."

"But we've made it through," Harry said nervously. "Somehow. Don't ask me how, because I haven't got a clue, but there must be something holding us together."

"You asked me earlier," Draco swallowed slowly, "if I felt anything for you." Harry nodded. "Well I do," Draco said, "you know I do, but I don't know if it's strong enough."

"I _love_ you," Harry said. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does," Draco sighed exasperatedly. "I'm just saying that I don't see how we can be right for each other, Harry. I am a different person in this time, I have betrayed all my ideals, I have lost my family, my friends, my life. I am not the same person any more, and that scares me." Harry looked hard at Draco whose face was tired and wan, a sheen of greyness lighting his cheekbones, making him look young and frightened.

"What are you saying?" Harry asked, his voice not nearly as strong as he would have liked it to be. "You want to end this? Us?"

"I don't know," Draco whispered, looking at his drink.

"Stop being such a sodding coward and look at me," Harry snapped, and several people from the next table looked up. Draco stared at his glass for a second before tilting his chin upwards and turning his face to Harry. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach, and it was a decidedly unpleasant sensation. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. He had forgiven Draco for speaking so harshly to him, he had been ready to forget the whole incident and Draco wanted to end it? There was something horribly unjust about the whole affair.

"Stop being a child for one minute," Harry said, fighting to control his voice, "and listen to me. I know this has been hard, and I know that everything has moved very fast, but you can't deny that there is something between us."

"I'm not trying to deny it," Draco spat.

"Then what's your problem?" Harry raised his voice a little.

"I don't see how we can continue to be together with this knowledge between us," Draco said coldly, "I just don't."

"We seem to have managed for two years," Harry said. "Why can't you trust your own judgement?"

"Because I don't grasp any of this," Draco said, and the same vulnerability flickered again in his eyes. "You're telling me to stop being a child when in reality that is what we are. We nothing more than children playing with a fire we can't handle."

"Maybe in the future we can," Harry said quietly, moving his hand from Draco's knee. The movement made the blond stiffen slightly.

"Maybe," he said.

"Where do we go from here?" Harry asked, fingering a silver ring.

"I don't know," Draco said again, and there was a moment's silence where neither of them looked at each other.

"You say you don't understand any of this," Harry muttered. "Well neither do I, but I know that both of us have changed. We've had to change, to survive the years that we missed. We're not the same people any more, Draco."

"I know that, I..."

"Let me finish, just for once," Harry said, and Draco shut up. "Thank you. I was just saying that neither of us can begin to comprehend anything that has gone on, or how our future selves feel about it. We have children's eyes in adult bodies and neither of us have the capacity to deal with any more burdens than we already have."

"So what do you propose we do?" Draco asked. "Forget all of this?"

"Yes," Harry said. "That's exactly what we should do. We are going to relive all of this anyway in a couple of years time, unless we change our futures, so all we can do now is forget it, because thinking about it constantly will do nothing but torment you."

"You killed my mother, Harry," Draco said. "I don't know how to come to terms with that." There was the clank as someone dropped a glass.

"You know why that happened," Harry said. "Or, at least, part of why. How do I know that you haven't done something terrible to me along the line? I wouldn't put it past you." Draco was too weak to smile. "You've changed, Draco, deal with it. Your future self is obviously happy with the life of luxury, devoted friends, incredibly handsome lover and massive wardrobe. Why can't you just accept that this is where your life has led you, and you're content with it?"

Harry knew that he had a valid point and that Draco was thinking hard. The blond's brow was furrowed and his eyes looked dull from tiredness and from worry. Without being able to stop himself, Harry moved his hand to caress Draco's cheek. It was the lightest gesture but it left a tingling touch on Draco's skin, and Draco leaned into Harry without thinking.

"You're right," he said softly. "You're always right."

"You've changed for the better, you know," Harry said. "You're not nearly so arrogant as you used to be." Draco let out a short laugh. "And you're less pretentious than you were," he said, and turned slightly so that they were facing each other, their faces mere centimetres apart. Several people at the next table were watching them with ill-disguised interest, including the busty barmaid who had been cleaning the same glass for ten minutes.

"One day all of this will make sense," Harry promised, nudging Draco with his nose.

"But for now, sod it," Draco finished, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips on Harry's with the lightest pressure that made sparks of happiness flare behind Harry's eyes. They were blissfully unaware of the excited muttering that was going on next to them, of the leprechauns craning their necks over the partition and of the giggling young women, whose mouths had dropped open as they stared at the two young men kissing passionately in front of a pub-full of people.

They were blissfully unaware of everything, until three of the wizards at the bar stood up fluidly, and cast their worn travelling cloaks to the ground. It was only when people started screaming that Harry and Draco looked up, and then their blood froze in their veins.

White masks that hid twisted faces, long black robes, skeletal fingers grasping wands, all pointing at their chests.

Harry gulped. This was not good.


	11. Through Glassy Eyes

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Chapter 11: Through Glassy Eyes

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Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats - H.L.Mencken

__

Dying is a very dull and dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing to do with it - Somerset Maugham

The pub became a mad scramble of activity as people tried to rush for the door. The Death Eaters didn't let them, however, and shot many people back towards the bar, magically locking the door, trapping everyone inside. The witches were screaming hysterically, the leprechauns were hiding under a table and the old men and women were huddling together as far away from the Death Eaters as possible, their eyes wide and frightened. The Death Eaters did not move to eliminate them, though. When they raised their wands at the 'hostages' it was to cast invisible magical bonds around them to prevent them from moving or helping. This was an act of revenge so complete that the glory of it was the ultimate aim. They needed witnesses.

They needn't have worried, though, the Death Eaters had eyes for only two people, both of whom were frozen to the spot in abject terror, unable to move.

"Shit!" Harry exclaimed, and both he and Draco dived to the floor as the first curses hurtled towards them, incinerating the table and chairs.

"What's going on?" Draco cried as Harry dragged him to his feet and they both pulled out their wands. The Death Eaters lowered their hoods, and the sallow faces of Macnair, Avery and Lestrange stared at the two men.

"This was what I was going to tell you," Harry said, looking at the silent Death Eaters, "we're in a bit of trouble."

"Who are you?" the barman asked fearfully. "What do you want?"

"We have come for Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," Bellatrix Lestrange said, her eyes glinting evilly in the firelight.

"Harry Potter?!" one of the witches shrieked, "Draco Malfoy? Here?"

"They stand before us," Bellatrix said in a voice that would have cut steel. "But not for long." The muttering around them intensified until it resembled the buzzing of angry bees.

"Auntie Bella," Draco said, almost conversationally, "you're looking more unpleasant than usual."

"Quiet, traitor!" Bellatrix snapped, raising her wand until it pointed at Draco's throat. "I always said that you would be a thorn in your father's side, and I was right. My poor Narcissa thought she could make a real man out of you, but you were always going to be your family's ruin."

"I take it you don't like me much any more," Draco pointed out coolly.

"To betray the name of Malfoy was bad enough," Bellatrix went on, "but to consort with Potter of all people. You can sink no lower."

"As opposed to you," Draco snapped, "who can take the moral high ground even when about to kill your own nephew."

"Lestrange," Harry hissed, "you bitch. Do you really think you can fight us with any hope?" Even in the horrible tenseness of the moment he was glad that his voice did not quaver.

"You are the reason our master is weak and lost," Macnair said through cracked lips, "you are his bane. He will reward us greatly for killing you." Harry sensed what Draco was about to do.

"Avada Kedavra!" Draco yelled and a flash of green light shot from his wand towards Bellatrix. Several people screamed but she was too quick for him and shouted,

"Protego!" The spell reflected back to Draco who ducked just in time to feel it graze overhead, narrowly missing Harry who had had to throw himself bodily out of the way.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled, but his beam of red light deflected off Avery's protection charm. He was suddenly thrown into the wooden beams, his head snapping back and all breath snatched from his body. Macnair had shot a spell at him that had flung Harry into the wall, winded him and caused his arm to crack against the timber. He cried out in pain and sank, crumpled to the floor.

"Harry!" Draco yelled, but he couldn't go over to him because Bellatrix was advancing, her wand held high.

"Praecipito!" she shouted, and a brilliant jet of blue and silver echoed from her wand, catching Draco full in the chest. He felt as though he had been hit by a sledgehammer as the wind was knocked from him and he was flung unsteadily from his feet. Luckily he landed on the debris of one of the booths and was cushioned by the tattered remains of what had been a seat. Bellatrix was laughing poisonously at him, as Draco coughed, and drawing ever closer, enjoying this purgatory of torture.

There were so many thoughts running through Draco's head. Most pressing of these was: _oh shit, I'm going to die_, but one sneaked glance over at Harry, who was standing firm despite the unpleasant angle of his arm, gave Draco a strength he didn't know he had.

"Is that all you've got?" he spat, struggling valiantly to his feet and picking up his wand. Bellatrix's face suddenly contorted with rage and she sprang at him like a lioness.

"Tell my sister I sent you to her." she cried, and the killing curse began to form on her lips.

"Expelliarmus!" Draco yelled desperately, and his hex's aim was accurate as it hit Bellatrix forcefully in the chest, knocking her off her feet and sending her wand flying into the air. Draco didn't wait for her to get up before he had leapt over the tables, grabbed a large shard of glass from a broken bottle and pinned his aunt to the ground as she flailed madly beneath him, fingers groping redundantly for her wand, which was out of reach.

"Tell her yourself," he said as he shoved the glass into Bellatrix's neck, severing her jugular vein and delivering the perfect coup de grace that Sirius had been unable to. Warm, red blood streamed from the wound to her neck and Bellatrix coughed and spluttered, her words coming out garbled as red liquid began to trickle from the corners of her mouth. She groped uselessly for her wand and soon began to lose consciousness as the blood drained from her body.

Draco sprang up at once, horrified with himself for what he had just done. His family's blood, _his_ blood, was staining his clothes and his skin, scalding him like burning oil as the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange visibly dulled in their sockets. Death was claiming her, as cold and unforgiving as that she had dealt to hundreds of muggles. There were women screaming and crying, the blood was spilling out onto the floor in a malevolent red pool, staining everything it touched. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Draco's heart was pounding as he looked around in fear.

Harry was being advanced upon by both Macnair and Avery. He was cradling his broken arm to his chest but he held his wand high and shouted spell after to delay them, each one glancing off their shielding spells. Harry's senses were dulled from pain, he wasn't quick enough. Draco sprang over to help him, but Harry suddenly yelled,

"Serpensortia!" A gigantic, black snake writhed out of the tip of Harry's wand and raised itself up, hissing viciously. Draco stopped in his tracks. The snake was far bigger than normal snakes were, and towered over Rookwood and Macnair who both regarded it warily. Harry, though, had a twisted smile on his face, and began to speak in a series of hisses and spitting noises that Draco recognised immediately as Parseltongue.

The language sounded incredibly sexy when issuing from Harry's lips, and if it hadn't been for the seriousness of their situation, Draco would have been a little turned on. As it was, he could only watch in fascination as the snake seemed to obey Harry's command and moved towards the two Death Eaters, swaying and hissing. Without any warning, it bared its pointed fangs and struck once, twice, three times into Macnair's abdomen, spilling forth crimson blood and making the Death Eater scream in pain and terror. The snake attacked him so viciously that Draco was sickened to watch it and actually retched as he heard bone crunching and flesh being ripped from the man's body.

Harry was watching all this without flinching. Rookwood, temporarily frozen with terror, regained something of his strength and sent another spell towards Harry. Harry couldn't duck this one, and was shot to the floor again, landing on his wounded arm, his head colliding so heavily with the wall that when he landed, he did not get up again.

The snake vanished at once, and Macnair's lifeless body fell to the floor.

Cold, painful horror began to permeate Draco's consciousness as he looked at Harry lying there amongst the rubble, unmoving. He could not lose him, he couldn't. A blind rage seemed to overtake Draco as his legs carried him forwards as if on castors and he flung himself at Rookwood's back, sending the man toppling to the ground and away from Harry. Rookwood was much bigger and stronger than he was, though, and soon managed to flip Draco over and pin him against the wall, his wand pointing at his heart.

"You're dead, Malfoy," Rookwood spat, tearing Draco's wand from his hand and breaking it, "you're dead!"

"Kill me, then," Draco said, "if that's what you came here to do. Avenge my mother and make my father proud. They fucked up royally to end up where they are, and living proof of Voldemort's infinite glory. Dead and imprisoned." he gasped as Rookwood backhanded him painfully across the face and he spat blood onto the floor from where he had bitten his lip.

"One more word and I will cut out your tongue," Rookwood said maliciously, his eyes glinting and his teeth bared. "Take your last breath, son of Lucius." Draco knew full well that he was going to die then. He would see that flash of green light and then life would be snatched from his body. He knew this, but now he was unafraid.

But the flash that followed was a brilliant, blinding white that filled the room and blasted a hole through on of the walls. Six figures were framed in the light, casting slim silhouettes that appeared blurry to Draco's tired eyes.

"Stupefy!" a voice cried and Rookwood slumped over Draco, stunned. Draco scrambled to his feet and looked around. Remus, Hermione, Ron, Seamus and the twins were standing there, wands held high, faces bearing worried expressions.

"Draco!" Hermione ran towards him and gave him a hug. "You're all right!"

"Yeah," Draco said breathlessly, before darting over to where Harry lay. "Oh God, Hermione, he's not breathing." A dreadful panic was filling Draco as he watched Harry lying there, crumpled into a heap, arm lying at a grotesque angle, blood trickling from a cut above his eye.

"Stand back," Remus said, bending over Harry.

"Where are the other Death Eaters?" George asked seriously and Draco pointed one shaking finger to the horribly disfigured bodies of Macnair and Bellatrix, both of whom were covered in copious amounts of blood.

"Oh disgusting," Seamus said, bending over them. "Is this your handiwork?" He extracted the piece of glass from Bellatrix's neck and Draco nodded numbly. "Nice one," he said. "I haven't seen a case like this in a while." Ron's strong arms were stopping Draco from running to Harry's side and he wasn't able to see what Remus and Hermione was doing over the redhead's tall shoulder.

"Just wait a minute," Ron said gently. "They know what they're doing."

"How did you know we were here?" Draco asked, his voice sounding raspy.

"Harry left us a note at Grimmauld Place," Ron explained. "And we Apparated here at once." Draco nodded again, taking nothing in. He had suddenly begun to shake very hard and Ron was looking at him anxiously.

"Are you ok?" he asked, looking at the blood Draco was covered in, "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No," Draco said, "this is Bella's blood."

"You killed her with a piece of glass?" Ron asked. "Did she disarm you?"

Draco couldn't answer. He knew that any attempt he made at Avada Kedavra would not be strong enough to kill anyone. It would probably knock them out for a few hours but that would be it. Draco had needed to kill and the brutal method he had employed had seemed the most effective at the time.

Fred was moving among the frightened huddle of witches and wizards, healing the minor cuts and bruises that the Death Eaters had dealt out and making sure that no-one was seriously hurt.

"I shall be going straight to the press!" the barman was exclaiming in a pompous voice. "Such goings on! In my bar!"

"You're lucky to be alive," Fred said shortly. "If they hadn't been after Potter or Malfoy you would most certainly be dead right now."

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," the barman said breathlessly, "in my bar, why, I never recognised them!"

"But you won't remember any of this, I'm afraid," Fred said coldly, holding up his wand, "Obliviate!" A look of peaceful dreaminess diffused across the man's face and Draco recognized it at once as being the effects of someone whose memory has been wiped. Fred then proceeded to go among the rest of the customers, modifying their memories, whilst George came up with an elaborate lie to explain the wreckage and dead bodies.

"Muggles," Draco heard him tutting. "These two watched too many horror films and attacked you all. Thank God we got here in time."

"Who are you?" The barmaid asked, confusedly.

"Magical Law Enforcement Squad," George replied effortlessly. "We're trained professionals, madam." He flashed his library card with a look of such supreme confidence that the barmaid nodded hastily, biting her lip.

"He's waking up!" Draco heard Remus say and managed to struggle out of Ron's arms and dart to Harry's side. Remus and Hermione had magicked his arm into a sling and healed the bones in it before reviving Harry and closing some of his bloodier cuts. Harry's eyes lids were flickering open, and Draco pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"Wake up, you son of a bitch," he said hoarsely, and could have sworn that he saw Harry smile.

"He'll be fine," Remus said, as Harry opened his eyes.

"Draco?" he croaked.

"I'm here," Draco stroked his hair, and kissed him again.

"Are you ok?" Harry tried to sit up, and Draco helped him.

"Yeah," he replied, "Now will you think about yourself for once?"

"Thank God you're all right," Hermione said in relief, but her face was very white.

"That was close," Draco muttered.

"I think we ought to get you all home," Remus said gently. "Come on." He lifted Harry as easily as if he was carrying a child and took him over towards the fireplace. Hermione helped Draco to follow and the rest of the Order brought up the rear. One by one they stepped into the flames and flooed back to Harry and Draco's flat, leaving the twins to clear up the debris.

Back at the flat, Remus laid Harry gently on the sofa and Draco washed the blood off his hands before sitting with him and conjuring a large glass of scotch.

"What happened?" Remus asked and Draco began to talk. He told them everything that had happened from the moment Harry had entered the bar to when the others had arrived, omitting nothing, his voice soon becoming hoarse and croaky.

"You say you still had your wand when you were leaning over Bellatrix?" Remus looked slightly confused. "Why didn't you Avada Kedavra her? Why reach for the glass?" Draco looked at his hands, before up at Hermione who was biting her lip, before down at Harry who nodded at him.

"Tell them," he said quietly.

"Tell us what?" Ron asked from where he sat.

For the second time that afternoon, Draco constructed an explanation, prompted by Hermione and Harry who filled in the bits he had forgotten. Ron spluttered indignantly on several occasions but Remus was silent until they had finished, his face grave.

"You say you have been here, in these bodies, for all this time?" he asked.

"Yes," Draco said, "it's been a nightmare."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"Hermione thought it was best," Draco glanced at her nervously.

"I did," she said. "I thought I would be able to find an antidote without the need to tell anyone else." She went on, "Unfortunately, it doesn't seem as though one exists."

"You drank a Pertho Draught?" Remus asked and Harry and Draco nodded. "I've heard of it," he said sombrely, "and I think I might know where to find a reversal spell."

"Oh wonderful," Harry sighed, "at last."

"You should have told me," Remus chided Hermione,

"And me!" Ron exclaimed. "You're telling me that you are the seventeen year old versions of yourselves?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "the last thing I remember about you is that you were dating Padma Patil."

"Oh yeah," Ron's eyes misted over as he recalled the time Harry was speaking of, "now she was hot." Hermione swatted him,

"_You_ are engaged," she reminded.

"A man can dream, can't he?" Ron grinned.

"I don't understand," Seamus said. "You've been pretending all along? We never even noticed."

"I thought you were acting a bit strange," Ron admitted, "especially when we were reminiscing about all the ex-Slytherins." He directed this at Draco.

"In my time, we're still friends," Draco said sadly, "so everything you said came as a bit of a shock."

"I have to say I think it's dangerous that you should go back knowing so much about your future," Remus looked concerned.

"Dangerous it may be," Harry sighed, "but now we have seen the future we might be able to change it slightly." he looked up at Draco who comprehended exactly what he was talking about. "We may be able to do some good. Save some lives."

"Maybe," said Remus, "I hope so."

"But you two are acting like you're in love and everything," Ron pointed out, "I thought you still hated each other in sixth year."

"We did," Harry said, "but I think that being forced together for so long might have speeded things along a bit." He sat up, rubbing his head and Draco pulled him into his arms.

"This is bizarre, man," Ron said, shaking his head. "I thought you were acting weird but I couldn't out my finger on why. Now it all makes sense."

"I'm getting a headache," Seamus declared. "So when you were fighting those Death Eaters..."

"We didn't have a clue what we were doing," Draco supplied, "so we're very, very lucky to be alive now."

"Oh Merlin," Hermione rested her head in her hands, "this is such a mess."

"There is a book which catalogues all the different varieties and antidotes to potions such as the Pertho Draught," Remus said, "which Hermione probably has in her impressive library."

"We've looked," Harry said, "but we couldn't find anything."

"Ah, you wouldn't," Remus said, a twinkle in his eye, "it wouldn't be the kind of book you'd look in."

"We'll go tomorrow and find it," Hermione said, "if you'll come and help, Remus."

"Of course I will."

"But now you have to rest." A motherly expression had flitted across her face and she fixed them with a steely look. "I will brook no contradiction," she said, "I want you in bed, now."

"Ja, mein Fuehrer," Harry said, as Draco hauled him to his feet and slung his arm around his waist, supporting him as they walked. He had to admit, that after the exhausting afternoon they had had, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in Draco's arms and sleep for an eternity.

The bedroom was dark, even though it was still the afternoon, and the sounds of the traffic outside the windows seemed oddly dulled. Gingerly unwrapping his sling, Harry massaged his aching arm and winced as he found it extremely tender. Draco ran one hand over the abused limb, tracing a delicate line across Harry's shoulder blades and round the back of his neck, drawing him close enough to kiss deeply.

"Distraction tactic?" Harry asked, grinning.

"It worked, didn't it?" Draco asked, pulling his shirt over his head and quickly divesting Harry of his, trying not to further hurt his arm in the process. They kissed again, a tingling sensation running the length of their naked chests as they met, their arms wrapping round each other.

"Hermione will be in in a minute," Harry warned, feeling an erection threaten and knowing that they would be unable to do anything about it. Draco looked faintly disappointed. He kissed Harry again, pushing him slowly backwards onto the bed and sliding across him so that they lay side by side.

"Get some sleep," Draco said. "You look exhausted." And he nestled closer to Harry, burying his face in the tangled mass of glossy, black hair. Harry breathed Draco deeply, relishing every moment of his company and his closeness.

"Night, Draco," he said, and closed his eyes.

"Good morning." A soft voice issuing from rose-red lips brought Harry into wakefulness the next morning. He found himself curled in the same position he had woken in when they had arrived in the future, with Draco's face pressed close to his own. "How are you feeling?" Draco asked him, and Harry rubbed his eyes blearily until the gash of blond came into sharper focus. He soon became aware of a painful twinge in his arm and he moved it, grimacing.

"Sore," he said,

"That's to be expected," Draco frowned, "let me look." With an uncharacteristic gentleness he took Harry's arm into his hands and began examining it. There would be a fair amount of bruising if the bluish-grey contusions were anything to go by, but no major damage done. Harry watched Draco's absorption, his eyes never leaving his face.

"I didn't think we were going to make it out of there," he said thickly. "I really didn't."

Draco looked at the pillow without seeing it. "I know what you mean," he said, his voice quiet, "but we were very lucky."

"Did I black out?" Harry asked, having only the vaguest recollections of everything that had happened since the snake had exploded from the end of his wand. He remembered being hurled into the wall and breaking his arm. He remembered the blinding pain as he dodged curse after curse, and he remembered faintly speaking Parseltongue and watching a giant cobra rip a man's heart out. Harry suddenly felt somewhat nauseous.

"Yeah, Remus revived you. I thought for a moment," Draco broke off, unable to continue, "I thought... you might be..." He couldn't finish.

"Dead?" Harry prompted.

"That scared me more than anything in the world," Draco said, his voice as sincere as Harry had ever known it, and eyes moving to rest on Harry's face, filled with a grey anxiety that Harry had never noticed before. "Never do that to me again," he breathed.

"Near death experiences come as a hazard of being the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry smiled inwardly. "You get used to them," he said, shrugging, and wishing that it didn't have to be so. How many people had survived five plots to kill them by their sixteenth birthday?

"I don't want to lose you," Draco said suddenly, surprising even himself with the declaration.

"You won't," Harry murmured, pulling Draco onto his lips and slipping one hand down beneath the covers. The look that suddenly crossed Draco's face was glorious, and, positioning himself above Harry so as not to hurt his arm, he swooped down on him until they were as one person. Touching their way to completion, Harry soon forgot where he ended and Draco began, and for one, fleeting moment, he lost himself in the taste of someone else.

"Hermione will be here soon," Harry muttered after they had slumped back on the bed again half an hour later.

"Did she ring our fellytone?" Draco asked, his eyes closed and his lips swollen.

"Yes," Harry trailed one finger across the slim, red line of Draco's mouth, smiling. "Remus found the book he was talking about." Draco opened his eyes but there was a shadow of discontent flickering through his eyes. "What's wrong?" Harry asked, and Draco sighed.

"I guess this is it, isn't it?" he said, looking around at the opulent room they had been occupying for so long, and had come to think of as their home. "Our last day in the future-present, whatever the hell we're meant to call this."

"I guess so," Harry replied, also looking around. This place was now familiar to them, and a part of him didn't want to leave. "And we thought we'd only be spending about half an hour here."

"Do you think we'll be able to take something back?" Draco asked.

"I don't know," Harry yawned, "why?" In answer, Draco leaned over to his bedside cabinet and withdrew from a drawer, a wizarding photograph. It was in black and white and was of them lying on a beach somewhere, Draco stretched out on top of Harry as a monochrome sunset streaked the sky behind them. Sitting in the background was Hermione, Sean and Ron, all waving at the camera. Harry and Draco's pictorial selves were smiling at each other, and occasionally leaned in for a rough kiss.

"I found this," Draco said, looking at it fondly, "and I loved it." Harry could see why. The camera had captured every detail with perfect clarity and there was something ultimately comfortable about the way in which the men were positioned together that spoke a lot about the way they were as a couple.

"What would you do with it?" Harry asked, looking at the picture.

"I don't know," Draco shrugged, "just a souvenir of a very memorable trip."

"You can say that again," Harry smiled.

"I wonder what our friends will say when they see this," Draco said, watching his photographic self calmly pour sand into Harry's hair.

"You think we should show them?" Harry's brow furrowed.

"You don't?"

"No, I was just wondering what you thought about that," his emphasis on the last word of the sentence made Draco look up and narrow his eyes.

"What?" he asked. Harry flushed slightly, and didn't quite meet Draco's eyes, the way he always looked when he was getting uncomfortable.

"Whether we should remain... you know... boyfriends, when we get back," he mumbled, and Draco had to strain to catch every word.

"Don't you want to?" he asked.

"Of course I do!" Harry exclaimed. "Things will be different, that's all. Harder." He had been worrying about this for a while. How was he supposed to explain to Ron what he felt for Draco? Everything had happened so fast that he could hardly fathom it himself, let alone expect his friends to, when they hadn't even witnessed any of this.

"Why?" Draco asked.

"Well everyone accepts us here," Harry said, throwing up his hands. "I think it'll cause quite a stir back in 1996 if we suddenly start sleeping together."

Draco paused for a moment in silent contemplation. "At least life will be interesting," he sighed.

They didn't have much time to think over this problem before they heard the familiar 'whooshing' sound coming from the living room that meant that someone had just flooed over to the apartment.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice echoed through the walls. "Draco? We're here!" She called, and Harry's heart immediately began to pound.

"It's Hermione and Remus!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Hang on a sec!" Draco yelled as they rolled off the bed and began foraging around the floor for clothes. As soon as they were suitably covered, they raced next door where they found Hermione and Remus holding up an enormous leather-bound book.

"We found it!" Hermione said, her eyes sparkling.

"Where was it?" Harry asked, looking at the book which was threatening to crumble into dust at any moment.

"I knew that records of the Pertho Draught had been documented since the 1500's," Remus explained, clearing his throat with what sounded like a painful cough. "so you just had to look in here," he pointed to the title of the book, _'A Fulle Lyste of Potion Developmentes in this, the sixteenth century' _by Heinard Goblintoe, "to find what you needed."

"I never thought of that," Harry admitted, wondering why the idea of scanning historical references had slipped his mind.

"Is there a counter spell?" Draco asked, taking care not to damage any of the cracked pages in the book.

"Yes," Hermione said, slapping his hand away, "and an explanation as to why yours went wrong."

"We know," Harry sighed, recalling that disastrous moment when the rose petals vanished beneath the surface of their potion. "we added the wrong colour rose petals."  
"Yes, but you should have returned once the time limit ran out," Hermione said, frowning. "I think the potion kept working because you added too much of the active ingredients."

"Impossible," Draco snapped at once, not suffering anyone to contest his potion-making ability.

"Don't slight Draco's potion making skills," Harry warned, with an amused look at Draco. "He's likely to hex you."

"The method you were working from must have been incorrect," Hermione said simply, "or you were imprecise. One of the two."

"I am never imprecise," Draco said, a dark look crossing his handsome face.

"But the book was covered in potion smudges," Harry reminded him, thinking back to the lesson. "You probably read the quantities wrong." Draco nodded, and Harry could tell that he was remembering too.

"Blame Goyle, he dropped my book in his cauldron the week before that lesson," he sighed, and sat down.

"It doesn't matter, though," Remus said softly, "as long as we can get you back safely."

"And this will work, will it?" Draco said, looking slightly worried. "No offence, Hermione, but your last attempt was pretty rough," he went on, apologetically.

"Last attempt?" Remus fixed Hermione with a searching gaze which made her appear suitably abashed.

"I thought that with the correct adaptation, a perspective switching spell might work," she said, not looking directly at the werewolf. "Unfortunately, it didn't.

"Good idea, though," Remus conceded.

"So what will happen with this spell?" Harry asked.

"You will need to be put to sleep," Hermione said, suddenly businesslike. "Remus and I will say the incantations over your bodies and when you wake up, with any luck you will be in your own time."

"Sounds great, let's do it," Harry's heart was soaring. Here was the answer to their prayers. They had waited so long for this moment.

"Hang on, I'll need to make a sleeping potion for you," Hermione said, vanishing into the kitchen.

"I can't believe that we're finally going back!" Draco exclaimed, seemingly unable to sit still. It was at times like these, when the joy and glamour of youth shone through his tired eyes and his platinum hair was swept carelessly back from his face, that Harry saw in him again the teenager that he had effectively grown up with. He spent a long time just looking at Draco and drinking in every ounce of beauty.

"I know," he said, smiling slightly, "it seems like so long."

"It is, we've been here over a month."

"Really?" Draco glanced over at the calendar. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath.

"Think how much we've missed," Harry groaned, thinking of all the make-up work they would have to complete.

"Think how much we've seen," Draco reminded him.

"I know," Harry was sure that they would come out of this much older and wiser. "I'll never read Oscar Wilde with the same eyes."

"I'm glad I've managed to educate you," Draco said.

"It seems weird, though."

"I know what you mean," Draco looked down at his hands, "I kinda like it here, it's become more comfortable."

"Out of necessity." Harry licked his lips. "We've just had to live with it."

"Do you think things will change?" Draco asked him, a hint of worry tinting his deep voice. "You know, when we get back."

"I think we'll be able to change some of the worst parts," Harry said hopefully. "We might be able to change the future for the better."

"I wouldn't count on that," Remus interjected gently. He had been silent, listening to Harry and Draco talk, but now he leaned forward, the sunlight illuminating his grizzled face and making him look older than ever.

"Why not?" Draco asked indignantly.

"I'm not sure quite how much of this you'll remember," Remus said. "The description of the spell is a bit sketchy on that point."

"We'll remember that we are together, though, won't we?" Harry asked, feeling very anxious.

"I can't go back to us hating each other," Draco said.

"Me neither."

"Oh you'll definitely remember something so fundamental as that," Remus assured them. "What I mean is, you won't remember many of the details. This will all seem like a slightly blurry dream."

"So we'll remember that we have feelings for each other?" Harry relaxed a bit as Remus nodded.

"Yes, you should do," he said.

"I hope so."

"It might be a good thing that you don't remember everything," Remus said in the sage way that had always defined his manner of speaking. "that way you can't wreak any drastic changes."

Harry paused to think about the consequences their memory could have on their future lives when he noticed Draco get up and reach for the newspaper.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to memorize what IBM is selling at in this time," Draco said, flipping over the page and scanning the stock market reports.

"Do you ever think about anything but money?" Harry grinned.

"Occasionally," Draco said seriously. "I try not to make a habit of it."

"So, providing you still have hazy memories of your life in the future, what do you think you'll try to change?" Remus asked curiously.

"My obsession with Death Eaters," Harry's face suddenly darkened visibly. "It took over my life."

"It did," Remus agreed. "That's the reason you stopped being an Auror. Your life was in danger and you had nothing else to live for. It was the only thing you had left, in the end it was unhealthy."

"I'm going to pay a visit to my mother," Draco said, dropping the paper, "and try to talk some sense into her. God knows, someone has to."

"It'll be ok," Harry said softly.

"I know," Draco sighed, "I know."

"Potion will be ready in five minutes," Hermione called from the kitchen. Harry looked round the door to see her simmering a tiny cauldron over their oven grill.

"That was quick," he said approvingly.

"Simple textbook draught," Hermione said airily, "nothing special, you only need to be asleep for a couple of minutes."

"Great," Harry said, feeling the first clutches of nervousness swim around his stomach.

"Don't worry," Hermione soothed, "everything will be fine." Harry wished to God that he could believe her. It wasn't so much that he doubted Hermione's potion making skills rather than he knew just how much scope there was for error in any magical undertakings, especially of this magnitude and importance. He had little doubt that the potion Hermione intended to brew was going to be highly complicated and therefore carry with it a greater risk factor than anything Harry would feel comfortable drinking. He also had the harrowing memories of the last time Hermione had been so sure of her own skill and they had ended up writhing around on the floor in the kind of acute agony that Harry had only felt with the use of the Cruciatus Curse.

He immediately dismissed these traitorous thoughts, as he caught a glimpse of Hermione in the kitchen, doing her best to help them. He knew that both he and Draco had been next to useless in devising ways to send them home and he was infinitely grateful to Hermione for her help and continued support. Without her it was very likely that they would have become hermits and spent their days living off pineapples and Tabasco sauce.

Glancing over at Draco, though, Harry saw the same nervousness mirrored in his usually impassive face, and knew that he wasn't being unreasonable to distrust anything Hermione gave him to put in his mouth.

It was far too short a time before Hermione said, "Ok you guys, this is it, potion's ready." Both Harry and Draco jumped to their feet as she walked in carrying two tumblers full of some lavender-coloured liquid.

"We drink this now?" Draco asked and Remus nodded,

"This will put you to sleep," he said, "and with any luck, you'll be eight years younger when you wake up."

Hermione was looking at them with a mixture of wistfulness and delight. "I'll miss you," she said.

"And you," Harry said, pulling her into a warm hug, "thank you so much for helping us." He stepped back and Draco gave Hermione a hug as well.

"You turned out ok," he said, "Granger." Hermione laughed and kissed them both.

"Try not to change," she said, "except," she looked at Draco, "you could be a bit nicer to me in school."

"Consider it done," Draco smiled, a faint blush on his cheekbones.

"Ready?" Remus' calm voice brought them back to reality. He held out the glasses, which Harry and Draco took and drained at once.

"Here goes," Harry said and then they both slumped to the floor, blackness sweeping through their minds and eddying their thoughts into one long tunnel of soporific blurs.

The last things they saw were Remus and Hermione standing next to them, their arms outstretched to catch them as they fell.

Neither of them remembered hitting the ground.


	12. The Loveliest Passion

__

Chapter 12: The Loveliest Passion

'What is thy name?' He said, 'My name is Love.'  
Then straight the first did turn himself to me  
And cried, 'He lieth, for his name is Shame,  
But I am Love, and I was wont to be  
Alone in this fair garden, till he came  
Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill  
The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.'  
Then sighing, said the other, 'Have thy will,  
I am the love that dare not speak its name.'

Two Loves - Lord Alfred Douglas

A grogginess so thick and complete that it seemed to strangle him was weighing heavily over his eyes, clouding his mind. Harry fought it blearily as something dragged his body from an unnatural sleep and out of the warm suffocation that held him fast. His mind spun as he opened his eyes and promptly closed them again, harsh lights piercing them. Blinking owlishly, he stretched his aching muscles and allowed some measure of clarity of mind to descend. Looking around at what appeared to be walls built from dark stone, Harry sat up at once as a million questions shot into his mind and the beginnings of a mild panic set in. He had no idea where he was but immediately took stock of the situation and realized with a jolt that he must be in the dungeons. The room was large but dark, with the dazzling lights being nothing more than torches burning merrily in their brackets. It was lined with wooden cabinets and shelves containing all sorts of glass jars and bottles, with coloured liquids and gelatinous substances brightening in hue as they caught the flickering light. He himself was lying in a nondescript bed with a chair beside it and a dark woollen blanket covering him. Basic though it was, it reminded Harry a little of an old fashioned sick-room and just as he was gazing around confusedly, he noticed the other bed and its prone occupant.

Harry gave a start as he recognized a halo of bright blond hair fanned out across the pillow and the familiar contours of a body stirring beneath an identical woollen blanket before the person in question rolled over and blinked silently in what seemed to be mild surprise.

"Draco?" Harry found himself saying, although his voice was hoarse with disuse and his vocal chords tight in his throat. The other boy looked up at once and a light of recognition illuminated his face before it began to look rather confused.

"Harry?" he said and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "Where are we?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he said. It struck him as strange that he should be talking to Draco Malfoy in so familiar and friendly a manner and that when he looked at Draco he was bombarded with feelings that had nothing to do with animosity. Draco sat up and the blankets fell away revealing a white t-shirt that rode up when he yawned and stretched. Harry swallowed and felt a bit flushed. Draco regarded him intently for a moment.

"I have this feeling that I should hate you," he said, narrowing his grey eyes, "and I'm not entirely sure why I don't."

Harry felt a warm tug of relief in his chest that he was not the only one of the two rivals to be feeling positively sociable. "Me neither," he said and managed a small smile. They lapsed into a contented silence as they both gazed around the room and tried to take in their surroundings. There was something companionable about the situation and something that felt incredibly _right_ in that they were alone together and perfectly comfortable.

"Where are we?" Draco asked after a few moments, rubbing his eyes.

"Not sure," said Harry, and he clambered awkwardly out of bed and grimaced as his bare feet hit the cold stone floor. He could almost feel the weight of Draco's eyes on him and as he turned around he caught the Slytherin looking at him with an expression that was new and hungry and flirtatious all at once. Harry's mouth went very dry. "I think," he said, tearing his eyes away from Draco with difficulty, "that we're in one of the old Advanced Teaching rooms. I visited them once or twice last year."

"Didn't know you were going in for Higher Education," Draco said.

"Nah." Harry yawned again. "It's just the inculcation of the incomprehensible into the ignorant—"

"By the incompetent," Draco finished and the pair looked at each other curiously as if trying to place something. There was a very strange feeling passing over the both of them simultaneously, as though they were having a long déjà vu, except it was hard to place and as though time was shifting forwards slightly. It was bizarre.

"How did you—?" Harry began.

Draco shrugged. "Something I heard once and thought was cool."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Me too, I think." He turned back to his examination of their quarters but snatches of memory seemed to be slowly filtering back into his mind and then they hit him with such force that his head exploded with pain and he sank to his knees on the floor, clutching at his temples, his fingernails making small crescents in his skin.

__

He saw a city washed in golden haze as the early sun kissed the silver domes and spires. It rose in a timeless arc over a growing skyline and Harry watched it all from the edge of the roof, a glass of orange juice in his hand, toasting the world and his good fortune.

He saw a crimson velvet curtain rising over a stage and Draco's hand covering his as they sat in the balcony. He watched as actors lost themselves in Wildean paradoxes and Draco waxed lyrical for a good ten minutes about the art of theatre.

He saw Hermione grinning at her husband. He was a man Harry had never seen before and yet recognized immediately. Hermione looked so different, so much happier.

He saw Ron, older and stockier, his pale face wincing in the sun. Unchanged in all but appearance, Harry watched as his best friend punched him on the arm before putting a glass of wine in his hand.

He saw Death Eaters pointing their wands at him, and a snake erupting from his fingertips. That image drowned itself in a pool of someone else's blood and Harry felt an echo of an injury crack along his skull as he was thrown backwards into a wall.

He saw Draco framed with moonlight as he leaned over and kissed him. He wanted to touch every inch of that skin and feel him arch with pleasure.

He felt an overwhelming need to hold him and to tell him…to tell him…

"I love you." The words had left his lips before Harry had even registered what he was saying and when he did so he looked shocked at himself and felt wave upon wave of confusion breaking over the solidity of that single fact. Draco, who had been similarly burying his head in his hands as a barrage of parallel memories assaulted him, looked up with a start. Something inside Harry's head was yelling reminders that this was Draco Malfoy, long time enemy, Slytherin and a Death Eater-in-training, but all that didn't seem to matter. What he could remember above all else, were feelings, strong ones that veered as far away from hatred as possible.

Draco's eyes clouded over for a moment as a kernel of understanding that he couldn't place seemed to lodge itself in the perpetuity of his consciousness. "I—" he said. "I don't— you shouldn't—" He sighed and a gentle wash of acceptance and discernment diffused over his face. He made a little head-cocking motion, which Harry interpreted as an invitation to approach him. Mouth still smarting from what he had just said, he kneeled on the end of Draco's bed and looked away, blushing furiously. Draco was still for a second before he brought one finger up to trace Harry's cheekbone, sending tingles the length of Harry's spine and making his heart pound in his chest.

"No scars," Draco said, ruffling his hairline above his ear where the skin was smooth and unmarked.

"Never had a scar there," Harry said, momentarily puzzled.

"Someday you might," Draco replied mysteriously and tilted Harry's face towards him so they were nose to nose. Harry could feel Draco's breath softly brushing over his skin and could see every plane and angle of his face next to his, so close to him, so perfectly fashioned. It was strange, though, not to see a lingering sense of haunting grey tragedy settled in his astonishing eyes, which Harry somehow expected, or the pale lines of care in his face that a new impression of youth had wiped away. Draco looked so young and carefree and so peaceful next to him, his eyes fixed on Harry's before moving to rest on his mouth, Draco's own tongue moistening his lips with a quiet delicacy. From this distance Harry could see every single mark on Draco's face, from the pale freckles on the bridge of his nose to his eyelashes, which were too dark for someone so fair. Harry shifted further towards him until he could feel the heat from Draco's body warming him and they were scant inches apart, beholding each other as if they had never done so before.

And then their lips were brushing and Harry teetered on the brink of absolutely everything.

Suddenly the door creaked and he and Draco jerked apart as though scalded.

"You're awake." The voice was one laced with surprise, a certain oblique sarcasm and a definite note of disdain. Harry didn't need to turn around to know that it was Snape, but he did so anyway. The door was open and framed in the torchlight was their Potions Master, just as they remembered him, imposing, sallow and forbidding.

Draco coughed. "Yes, Professor," he said, climbing out of bed and perching himself next to Harry. Snape came over to them at once and began a methodical examination that involved spelling various instruments to poke, prod and take readings whilst unnervingly airborne around their bodies. With a clinical detachment he took their temperatures, measured their heartbeats and after a lengthy interview pronounced them to be in full possession of their minds, something he declared to be 'very lucky indeed'.

"What happened?" Harry asked, shivering a little in the dankness of the underground room.

"How much do you remember?" Snape asked in clipped tones.

"Very little," Draco mumbled from around the thermometer in his mouth. "Seems a bit like a dream. Did we really travel through time or did I make that up?"

Harry dropped his beaker of Pepper-Up potion as he realized exactly how he had ended up where he was and all the fragments of memory seemed to fall into place. "We did!" he exclaimed. "We were in our futures, only they were the present and this is the past, only it's not because now it's the present."

"Very articulate, Potter," Draco said amusedly and Harry nudged him with his shoulder. If Snape found the exchange at all unusual then he did not betray it.

"You have both been unconscious for nearly two months," he said with an edge of sternness. "In case one or both of you don't remember, you added an incorrect key ingredient to your Pertho draught and then proceeded to test it without my knowledge and without me checking it first."

"Oh yeah," Draco said sheepishly, biting his lip.

"You do realize," Snape's voice grew colder, "the _monumental_ stupidity of doing so? In adding the wrong rose petals, you completely changed the potential of the potion and constructed something very different." Harry's heart sank as he recognized that two months was a hell of a long time for Snape to have to build up a suitable rant for when they had recovered. He sighed resignedly.

"It wasn't our fault, Professor," Draco said with a touch of annoyance. "The recipe we were working from was damaged—"

"And you didn't think of borrowing someone else's to make sure you were correct?" Snape fixed his favourite pupil with one of the patented glares that he usually reserved for Harry, who privately thought that his teacher was being unnecessarily harsh over an accident. "Let me tell you, Mr. Malfoy, about all the trouble you've caused. Time didn't stop passing just because you weren't here to occupy it, and you have spent the better part of two months completely comatose. Not only have the entire staff been worried sick for your welfare, but both your families were informed and Dumbledore has had to work for days to keep this from leaking to the press. Potter," Snape spat the word like it was poison, "I'm sure you can imagine the uproar from your fans that would result from their learning that you had been rendered completely insensible."

"You wrote to my father?" Draco gulped and looked pale.

"You wrote to the Dursleys?" Harry felt like laughing at the futility of that. "What, did you think they'd actually _care_?"

Snape shot him enough of a glare to shut him up quickly. Steam was still delicately issuing out of his ears from the potion and making Harry feel rather light-headed.

"If we've been comatose for so long," Draco said with a sense of defiance about him, "why are we here? Why haven't the St. Mungo's healers been looking after us?"

"Because," Snape replied, clearly affronted, "I am a more accomplished master of potions than any of those healers and I, unlike them, knew and understood exactly what had happened to you. The only complications arose when you didn't wake up when you should have done, that was when the staff began to worry and we were forced to begin experimenting with treatments. The healers at the hospital were consulted for advice but nothing more and I was bequeathed two excellent test subjects for the subject of my latest medical paper. You are both feeling alright, I trust?" Snape asked, finishing his examination and taking the seat by the bed.

"A little tired," Draco replied, "but essentially fine."

"Don't remember much," Harry muttered, trying to sort through the fog in his brain for any other detail before it was lost in the depths of his subconscious.

"What do you remember?" Snape pressed.

"Um—" Draco blushed a little.

"Feelings, mostly," Harry ventured, trying hard not to look at the Slytherin. "Emotions, that kind of thing."

"That's to be expected." Snape's voice was harsh and tight whenever he was forced to converse directly with Harry, a pastime he loathed. "To have you recall the exact details of your future would put it at risk. Your father has been here, Draco," he said, turning abruptly back to him.

"So I gather."

"He wanted your removal to St. Mungo's at once and it was only Dumbledore's acknowledgement that you should not leave the Hogwarts grounds that has kept you here," Snape said, evidently relieved at being able to finally admonish them for their oversight. Draco looked downcast and Harry was compelled to comfort him, wanting hazily to fold him in his arms and kiss him on the lips whilst recognizing that at one time such an idea would have seemed nauseating.

Mind wandering from Snape and Draco's conversation, Harry stretched his screaming muscles once more and tried to get them to loosen up after being so still for so long. He was filled with restlessness and as the last of the aching tiredness fell from his bones, he wanted nothing more than to stand up and walk around. Unfortunately, when he tried this, he felt so incredibly dizzy that he had to sit down again.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter." There was no note of indulgence in Snape's tone. "Just sit down. You have been through an arduous ordeal and your body will need some time to recover." Harry sat down on Draco's bed again and held his head, waiting for the dizziness to stop. "I'll go and retrieve your robes," Snape went on. "Madam Pomfrey insisted that you wear pyjamas when in bed. The woman was quite adamant." With those words Snape walked out and through the blackness of his closed eyes Harry heard his footsteps retreat. Then there was silence.

"Are you alright?" Draco's voice was soft and concerned. Harry nodded as the shakiness seemed to wear off slightly. He jumped as he felt cool, narrow hands brushing over his temples and lifting his chin, and just as Harry opened his eyes, Draco placed a gentle kiss in the middle of his forehead, utterly startling him.

"What was that for?" he asked.

Draco just shrugged appealingly and glanced down at Harry's lips, which Harry licked awkwardly and he became painfully aware of the thundering silence that enveloped them. The fact that Snape had unwittingly left them alone dawned on Harry and suddenly Draco was leaning into him and catching their lips together and every experience he had ever had of the Slytherin broke and remade itself in his mind. The kiss was short but intense as Harry explored Draco's mouth and threaded his hands through the dishevelled blond silk of his hair. Time, so freely moving and significant, stopped for a few moments and became irrelevant.

Draco pulled back first, breathing hard, his face flushed and his lips reddened. Harry thought he looked beautifully debauched and couldn't resist reaching out his hands and pulling Draco to him until they were skin to skin and their hearts were beating against each other. The hug was awkward at first but then Draco loosened in his arms and Harry began to kiss all his uncertainties away. Every time their lips met, they overcame a little of their reservations until Harry pushed Draco down on the bed and was swallowed up by the moment. He paused, propped up on his elbows, Draco stretched out beneath him, a flurry of golden hair, sardonic smirk and acres of pale, perfect skin.

"So beautiful," Harry murmured, almost to himself, before nipping at Draco's lower lip and eliciting a little sigh from him.

Harry would have been happy to stay there all day, but at the same time as he heard footsteps coming down the corridor, he saw Draco's eyes widen and they rolled apart at once.

The sound of steps echoed down the hall outside, accompanied by the long peals of laughter that Harry dimly recognized as Ron. His heart skipped in his chest at the sound as it seemed to recall him back from somewhere far away, planting both of his feet on the ground and bringing him sharply to the present and to reality. He had spent so long focusing solely on Draco and the burgeoning feelings of desire that had sprung from their forced companionship that everyone else had been pushed out of his mind. Now, as the door swung open, three of his very first friends stepped again into his house of excess.

Their reaction to seeing Harry awake was priceless. Hermione dropped the papers she was holding, Ron was cut off mid-laugh and Seamus's mouth fell open comically.

"Hey guys," Harry said weakly, throat scratchy and lips tingling. He gave them a little wave before they exploded with noise and ran towards him, arms and hands gripping him so tightly he didn't think they were ever going to let go.

"You're awake!"

"When? How?!"

"We've been so worried!"

Harry pulled back with difficulty to survey them, pieces of his adolescence that seemed strangely distorted and out of place. He wanted to picture Hermione's hair straighter and styled differently, he wanted to see Seamus with a rounder face and redder cheeks and he felt that Ron should have more of an air of exuberance about him. There was something different about all three, as though they were mirror images of themselves with just one aspect wildly changed.

"Oh Harry!" Hermione's eyes were shining with tears. "We thought— we thought—!" She broke off and flung her arms around him again, her face against his shoulder and her hair tickling his nose. She smelt sweet and Harry held her tightly, genuinely glad of her presence. Untangling himself a moment later, he felt Ron slap him hard on the back so that the breath was knocked out of him and he was assaulted again by their stream of questions.

"How long've you been awake, mate?" Seamus asked breathlessly, sitting on Harry's bed.

Harry glanced at Draco who had withdrawn immediately into himself and was resting his chin on his knees. "Not long," he said.

"We were so worried!" Hermione exclaimed. "Snape hasn't been letting us come and see you very often, but the whole school knows about it! Everyone thought it was dark magic at first but then Snape told us you'd just cocked up the potion."

"Were you in the future?" Ron asked excitedly. "What did you see?"

"I can't remember all that much," Harry said truthfully, rubbing his tired eyes. "Not many details anyway. I can remember feelings, though, and bits and pieces of memory. Just random stuff."

"What was it like?" Ron asked.

Harry could feel Draco watching him. "Good," he said. "From what I can remember it was amazing."

"What are you looking at, Malfoy?" Ron said suddenly and Harry's heart sank. He looked quickly at Draco who had been watching him and then at Ron who was standing protectively in front of Harry. Draco looked Ron up and down with a deliberate slowness that made Ron's lip curl and Harry's feeling of foreboding increase.

"Nothing of any worth," Draco said with a distinct air of malice. Ron's ears went pink and his jaw tightened.

"Well you can just fuck off, then," he said in a low voice. "All this was your fault anyway."  
"_My _fault?!" Draco stood up so fast the bed shifted across the flagstone floor. "How, Weasley? When I'm so much better at Potions than anyone else in this room?"

"You'd do anything to hurt Harry," Ron said, moving closer to Draco. "Anything to try and screw him over."

Draco raised one eyebrow and his lips formed the smirk that told Harry that a sexual innuendo was on the way and so he dived into the middle of the pair. "Stop it!" he exclaimed. "Both of you!"

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, affronted. "Let me deal with the prat!"

"No." Harry rubbed his eyes. "Just give it a rest, please." He sat back down and felt the bed creak as Draco took a seat next to him. He could see Ron fidget uneasily.

"Sorry," he said. "I know you've only just woken up and everything." He shot Draco a dark look for good measure.

"Your robes." Snape had returned with several swathes of black draped over his arms. He laid them on the bed and with a casual flick of his wand draw dark green silk curtains around the two beds, enclosing the Gryffindors and Draco inside. "I see no reason why you cannot get dressed, but I want neither of you to _think_ of leaving here without a large supply of Strengthening Potions. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Professor," they both said meekly. Snape glared at Ron, Seamus and Hermione suspiciously before whirling out again, no doubt to fetch some foul concoction for them to drink at regular intervals.

"Oh Harry, it's been awful." Hermione said when he had gone and Harry and Draco were sorting through the regulation school uniforms they had been handed. She had a tear track down one cheek and looked quite beside herself. "No-one was sure if you'd ever find your way back and wake up!"

"He was with me all this time, Hermione, of course we were going to find our way back," Draco said with no malice or exasperation. Harry didn't notice anything particularly strange about his comment but the spluttering of his friends reminded him that Draco had never in all his days been pleasant to Hermione.

"Got sick of the insults, have we?" Ron asked aggressively, striding in front of Hermione as if to defend her. "What the hell is up with you, Malfoy?"

"Oh bugger off, Weasley," Draco sighed, as if just realizing that he had said something extraordinary and wanted to mask it.

"What's that?" Seamus asked suddenly and bent to pick something up off the floor.

"No thanks, I'm here visiting my _friend_," Ron retorted, standing next to Harry. "Not something you'd know much about, is it?"

Draco had just opened his mouth to respond when Seamus said in a tight voice, "when you say you've been with Harry all this time, what did you mean?"

Harry felt himself redden slightly and chanced a look at Draco whose composure had faltered for the briefest of moments before he resurrected his veneer of superciliousness. "Why do you ask?" he said as though bored with the conversation.

Seamus looked for a long time at Harry who found it difficult to maintain his gaze steadily. "Where did this come from?" he asked, holding something towards them that looked suspiciously like a photograph. Harry made to take it but Ron was quicker and snatched it curiously out of Seamus's hand.

"What's this?" he asked and then froze as the photograph registered. "Harry?" His voice was as cold as ice. "What the fuck is going on?"

Draco grabbed the photograph and regarded it with a fractional lightening of his eyes and twitching of his mouth. It was the one Draco had found at the flat, the one where they had both been sprawled on top of each other at the beach, all over each other. "How the hell did this get here?" he asked. Harry didn't answer, too busy trying to think of something to explain the situation to Ron and the others.

"What the fuck is going on?" Ron asked again, this time in a slightly louder voice, one hand balled into a fist at his side. Harry could cope with it if he chose to shout at him or if he was disgusted, but the look of utter betrayal that flitted across his features was more than he was prepared to deal with. Harry looked over at Draco who was turning the picture over in his hands.

"It's from Hermione," he said. "Not you." He looked up at the young Hermione standing next to him. "Your future self. She must have spelled it here as a reminder." Harry glanced at the picture, written on the back in a neat script he recognized as similar to Hermione's present one, he read:

__

I hope you find this and remember the good times.

Live your lives well.

Love,

Hermione and Remus.

"Reminder of what?" Seamus asked, looking from Harry to Draco and back again. "Harry?"

Harry swallowed. "Draco and I…um…are…well…" Ron looked faintly pale.

"A couple," Draco finished for him, glaring defiantly at Ron.

For a split second there was total silence.

"Is this true?" Ron asked hoarsely. Harry nodded, not knowing what else to say. He wished Draco wasn't fixing Ron with that particular gleam of triumph but it really couldn't be helped and when Draco furtively slipped his hand in his, it gave him a flash of much needed resolve.

"Yes," Harry said quietly.

"You and Malfoy?" Ron spluttered, apparently unable to believe his eyes.

"Yes."

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered, completely disregarding Draco. "This is Malfoy, Harry, _Malfoy._"

"I know who he is, thank you," Harry replied coldly.

"Then you know that he has made your life hell for years," Ron jabbed his finger at Draco's chest. "I don't see how you can get over something like that."

Draco snorted. "Practice."

Ron looked disgusted. "How could you, Harry?" he asked and Harry looked away from his eyes at once.

"Ron," he heard Hermione say warningly.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Seamus whirled around and turned on Hermione.

"Because I knew about it," Hermione said quietly, not meeting any of their eyes.

"You did?" Draco asked in surprise.

Hermione let out a sigh and rubbed her tired eyes. "When I took the potion," she said in a soft voice, "it was like watching television right inside my head. I skipped about six years and when everything cleared I was sitting on a park bench beside you, waiting for someone, who turned out to be—" She motioned towards Draco who was watching her with a pensive expression.

"You saw them?" Ron asked. "And you didn't tell me?"

"How could I?" Hermione replied, shrugging. "When I knew you'd react like this." She looked down at her hands. "At least it gave me a couple of weeks to come to terms with it, though."

Harry didn't know what to say, and by the troubled look on Draco's face, neither did he. Ron's face was a similar colour to his hair and he looked as though he was fighting back a torrent of expletives that could only begin to cover his distaste for this situation.

"We should get dressed," Draco said quickly, seeing Ron open his mouth. The redhead's face deepened in colour but he and Seamus were dragged away by Hermione and it was not until the trio had left the room that Harry and Draco heard the muffled but indignant explosion of noise. When it had died down and disappeared down the corridor, they looked at each other.

"Oh well." Draco shrugged. "They'll get over it."

Harry groaned and stood up, unbuttoning his pyjamas and picking up the shirt from the bed. Draco was watching him and as Harry took off his pyjama top, Draco stood fluidly and slid his arms around his waist, pressing their lips together and sending a prickle of excitement running up Harry's arms. The impromptu display of affection set Harry's heart beating quickly and he registered a mounting arousal as Draco nipped and kissed at his lips, twining their arms together before licking a path down his neck. Harry could feel all the muscles in the other boy's back shifting beneath his hands and with little disruption he divested him of his shirt and pushed him back against the wall, his own perfect, blond enigma.

It felt like a thousand years had passed but the same tingles of delight, same excited shivers were coursing through them. The same thousand years could pass in a moment and it wouldn't matter, because as Draco shifted forwards against Harry's growing hardness, the delicious heat that seared through Harry's body wiped every rational thought from his mind. Harry's hand slid over Draco's arm, running over his collarbones and then down his chest, feeling the skin beneath his fingertips run like silk over the framework of bones that made Draco who he was.

Without warning the curtains were flung briskly open and they looked up to see their Potions Master staring at them with the kind of expression that one reserves for surprises of the most horrifying kind.

"Bugger," Draco said succinctly.

"Quite."

The castle twinkled with the distracted flicker of candles as they drifted through the air, lending their insubstantial light to the constant, oracular gleam of the ghosts as they talked in hushed voice through transparent lips. The gothic windows rose towards the vaulted ceiling, the many panes of glass refracting the stars into twisted shapes and patterns that seemed to conform to the idea that every future written in the stars has the power to be changed by the smallest, most mundane things. Above everything else, Hogwarts was imbued with power.

The marble staircase was wide and imposing as it swept across the Entrance Hall and opened itself into the many branches that held the memories of thousands of feet treading the same daily paths. As Harry and Draco walked slowly up it, neither of them spoke. The delicate clink of the vials of Revitalizing potions that Snape had supplied them with issued from their pockets and their soft footsteps were all but obscured by the unthinking chatter of the adjacent Great Hall, where dinner was being served and the occupants were as raucous as ever. A sense of nostalgia, heady and thick, weighed down upon them with bittersweet tendrils invoking simultaneous feelings of both wistfulness and elation. Draco felt as though he was back in a world where everything was certain, where he had nothing to hide and he could relax. It felt like taking that first breath of air after being underwater for a very long time. They were home at last, but something had changed, some fundamental aspect of themselves and of their lives. Their futures would be different to as they had seen because their pasts would be changed, but how that would affect their present, neither of them could begin to guess. It was just one of a hundred paradoxes that was inextricably worked into their lives, and it would take a greater mind and inclination than theirs to decipher them clearly. As it was, they were content to be young again but with the knowledge they now possessed, the intimate knowledge of each other and of the search for true peace of mind. Whatever was in store for them would arrive without their knowing, and to fight it would only prove futile.

"You seem different." Hermione had been alone in the common room but for several timid first and second years when both of them had clambered through the portrait hole and sank in front of the fire. Draco had followed Harry without a word and neither of them had questioned the wisdom of this, having existed so closely together for so long, their companionship was natural and easy.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, watching the embers glowing in the grate.

"I don't know," she said cautiously. Draco had noticed her warming towards him slightly as he had offered nothing but politeness but she still spoke warily, as if expecting a swift return of the bratty teenager she was so used to. "Older, I guess. Yes, you seem older, and changed."

"We've seen a lot," Draco said darkly as blurry memories of Bellatrix Lestrange came flooding into his mind. He could still feel the warm rush of blood as it flowed over his hands, and he shivered. It was peculiar. It seemed that the more vivid and profound an experience, the more it stuck in their minds until they had almost detailed snapshots of memory concealed deep in the tangled web of emotions.

"I don't doubt that," Hermione replied, watching Draco guardedly. "I'm just saying that you both seem different." She shrugged. "It's like you've lost some of your impulsiveness, Harry, or—" She struggled with the words. "You both seem more—jaded."

Draco let out a short laugh. "We had that before we left," he said and yawned. "Not that six weeks of sleep wasn't mightily refreshing but I could really do with a bit more. Bed would be where, Potter?"

Harry grinned at him and stood up, taking his hand.

Hermione blushed a deep red before she turned to them both. "Look, are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

She looked doubtful. "I'm not sure how many people are going to react like Ron did," she sighed, "and everyone will want you to explain what your future was like and what happened to you."

"Can we just explain in the morning?" Harry asked and Hermione rolled her eyes,

"Fine," she said, holding her arms out to hug Harry. "Goodnight." He wrapped her in a brief embrace before Draco leaned over and pecked the top of her head.

"'Night, Granger," he said quietly. Hermione's face was a picture of astonishment as they made their way up the staircase. Draco glanced over his shoulder to see her staring at him open-mouthed, before he wound his arms around Harry and lost himself in the boy's warmth.

When they reached the dormitory Harry wondered fleetingly where Ron had gone but all thoughts were driven from his mind as Draco leaned into him and pressed a delicate kiss to the hollow where his throat met his shoulder. It was the lightest touch of a butterfly's wings but it awoke a primal craving that made Harry lift Draco's mouth to his and plunder it with his tongue. Draco drove them both backwards until they landed on the bed, where he slid up Harry's body until he was straddling him, pinning his arms above his head and sinking onto his lips again until they were kissing fiercely.

"Draco," Harry whispered through the breathless kiss, "there's something you should know."

"What?" Draco murmured back, biting Harry's lip gently and licking a path down his throat.

"This is Ron's bed." The kisses stopped abruptly and Draco jumped off the bed quickly, and shuddered.

"The _Weasel's_ bed?" He looked disbelieving. "That is beyond wrong!" Harry got up too and pulled Draco through the crimson hangings of his own bed, where he muttered a silencing spell and made sure the curtains were tightly closed.

"No privacy here," he grumbled.

"Things are going to be different now, aren't they?" Draco said, looking around at the curtains, all that separated them from the rest of the dorm.

"More interesting," Harry said, shutting Draco up by pulling him down on top of him. The alignment between their bodies was different now. They were more equal in terms of breadth, and found tiny differences in the way in which they fitted together. Harry had fewer pale, white scars and Draco had lost a melancholy weight under which he had seemed to bow. They kissed softly for a few minutes in the darkness, their mouths finding each other and exchanging sensations without the need for words.

Harry awoke the next day to find one arm slung casually over his chest and a warm body monopolizing most of his bed. Draco was lying half sprawled across Harry, his chin resting lightly on his shoulder, their faces separated by the merest breath. Harry didn't know if he had ever fully appreciated Draco's lips before; they were a muted pink and as full as a girl's. He smiled slightly as he remembered what that warm mouth had been doing last night and pressed a gentle kiss to them to rouse Draco from sleep.

"Whayoudoin?" Draco murmured groggily, not bothering to open his eyes.

"What does it look like, ponce?" Harry said, grinning as he managed to make Draco's eyes fly open. He was rewarded with a savage bite to the lip, which wasn't altogether a bad way to start the morning. Draco stretched and coiled himself deeper into the tunnel of warmth inside the bed, curling against Harry's body so that the different hues of their skin blended seamlessly together. Harry worked his way through the barriers of pointed elbows and long arms that Draco had thrown over face until he found his lips again and gently brought him to wakefulness.

They spent long minutes kissing in the darkness of the bed, a lone island of privacy that was not subject to the rules and expectations of anything that might occur outside. Time moved by heartbeat. Their hands passed over each other's bodies, palms roughened by years of Quidditch exciting the skin they brushed until both were alive with the possibilities of each other.

"We should probably get up," Harry murmured a few minutes later. "I don't think we've got time for…you know."

Draco looked faintly disappointed, but nodded sleepily. "You go first," he said. "Come and get me when everyone's gone." He closed his eyes again and Harry couldn't resist kissing him messily on the forehead and eliciting a little 'mmf' noise from a mouth muffled by a pillow.

He had hoped that he would be the first awake but unfortunately he had forgotten the Silencing Spell. The first thing he heard when he stuck his head through the gap in the hangings was his name being called at a ridiculously high volume for so early in the morning.

"Harry!" It was Dean, standing with his wand in his hand and apparently trying to charm the wrinkles out of a pair of trousers. On seeing Harry he dropped both on the bed and gave his friend a brief hug. "Seamus said you were awake but that you were still down with Snape! Are you ok? How are you feeling?" Dean's excited face looked as out of place as Ron and Hermione had the evening before. Harry still kept trying to place his friends somewhere else, as though they didn't belong here, in his mind anyway.

"Good, thanks Dean," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Thought I'd skip dinner and come straight to bed, I didn't think I could deal with everyone's questions." Dean nodded amicably. "I'm fine, though."  
"Everyone's been so worried!" he said, dragging Harry to sit next to him on his bed. "Dumbledore and Snape have been working for _weeks_ on bringing you back! The Daily Prophet would have had a field day if they'd found out. Lucius Malfoy kicked up a stink, of course, but there was nothing anyone could do." Harry grinned as Dean prattled on, watching as his face lit up excitedly. He barely noticed when a door to his left slipped open and a familiar figure came into the dormitory from the bathroom.

"Harry." It was Ron, a stony expression on his face that was not quite quick enough to mask a flash of surprise at seeing Harry there. There was a definite coldness in his voice and he froze in the doorway, wariness etched into his stance, eyes narrowed.

"Ron," Harry said, his voice suddenly very hoarse. He didn't know what to say to make this any easier, a palpable awkwardness filling the space between them and making Dean at once uneasy.

"Er…is everything ok?" he asked, looking between the pair of them after neither of them spoke. Harry looked away from Ron's eyes, not quite wanting to meet them.

"What are you—" Ron began guardedly and then his eyes widened and he looked around at the room. "_He's_ not here…is he?" he asked and Harry's heart sank. He was unable to resist glancing towards his bed where the innocuous crimson hangings concealed the person Ron most dreaded to see.

"Who?" Dean looked confused. "Guys? Who's not here?" he asked.

Harry stood up. "Look, Ron, I know this is hard for you, but—"

"Hard for me?" Ron repeated, the colour rising in his face again. "You have no idea what it's like! And to have to find out from that bloody photograph! You should have told me. _Hermione_ should have told me." He looked more upset than anything but the curl of his lip and his refusal to come anywhere near Harry spoke volumes.

"Told you what?" Dean stood up too.

Harry felt instantly protective of Hermione. "Don't start on her, what was she supposed to say?"

"I've been tearing my hair out over you," Ron said, dragging a hand through his hair and making it stick up in all directions. "worrying if you were ever going to wake up or not, and as soon as you do, I find out this!" He looked angry and upset.

"_What?!_" Dean seemed more confused than ever.

"Tearing your hair out, Weasley? I'd have done a better job of it, there's still plenty of that hideous colour left." Harry's heart sank still further, settling to somewhere around his navel. Draco had wandered out of Harry's bed and stood before them, shirtless and stretching, the glints of bullion from the sunlight dancing over his skin. His face was devoid of its trademark smirk and he looked somehow every inch the archetypal, calculating Slytherin.

"What on earth is he doing here?" Dean asked. "Harry?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Ron spat venomously, "you pathetic Slytherin creep."

Draco looked highly entertained by this. "Temper temper, Weasley!" he exclaimed, leaning back against the poles of the four poster bed and folding his arms to his chest. Ron fixed Draco with a lingering look of loathing and whirled around to face Harry.

"Harry, how could you?" he exclaimed, clenching his fists. "How could you bring him here? You just don't give a damn about any of us, do you?" He looked so dismayed that Harry couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret, layered deeply beneath his own anger.

"Ron, that's not fair!" he cried, but Ron was already storming out of the dormitory, slamming the heavy door behind him emphatically. "Ron!"

Dean's voice was small and cautious and he kept shooting Draco suspicious looks. "Is someone going to explain what's going on?" he asked.

"I'm going back to bed," Draco announced to Harry, Dean and the newly awoken Seamus and Neville. "Joining me, Potter?"


	13. Patience

__

Hi everyone! Here is the final chapter of Tempus Fugit, which I started a year ago. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story and sent me such wonderful words of encouragement and constructive criticism. This isn't the end of the Tempusverse as I will be posting various short sequels and ficlets over at my Livejournal, username Stylophile. I hope you enjoy this chapter! And Merry Christmas…

Chapter 13: Patience

I believe in you, and I don't really give a damn  
If we're stigmatised  
We live our lives on different sides  
But we keep together you and I  
We live our lives on different sides

Stigmatised - The Calling

Whatever the instrument sticking out of his mouth was measuring, Draco was certain it wasn't his temperature. Shaped like a thermometer, it was fashioned from glass and a silver line embedded inside it was rising alongside a scale written in some arcane symbols that Draco had never seen before. He was studying it closely while holding it in his mouth as instructed when Snape came in and raised one eyebrow at him.

"You've gone cross-eyed again, Draco," he said mildly. Draco mumbled something around the instrument that was completely unintelligible which Snape wisely chose to ignore. He and Harry had woken up from their magical unconsciousness only the day before and since that morning their hours had been filled with rigorous examinations from Madam Pomfrey and the Potions Master. Madam Pomfrey had clucked her tongue at him disapprovingly and tried to put him back to bed again, proving remarkably forceful for so birdlike a woman. Snape, on the other hand, was treating him like a rather interesting science experiment. Draco wasn't sure which was the lesser of the two evils.

"Arnchoodonyed?" Draco said.

Snape looked amused. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Draco scowled and took out the instrument from his mouth. "I said, aren't you done yet?"

"Very well." Snape took the instrument out of his hands and tapped it with his wand. "You are, without a doubt, the worst invalid I have ever had the misfortune to tend," he said. "I suggest you spend at least a few minutes considering everything it means to be a patient, including all definitions of the term."

"I'm not an invalid," Draco protested, ignoring the comment.

"Of course you're not," Snape muttered absent-mindedly, his long, eagle feather quill making notes all by itself on a piece of parchment. They went on in silence for a few moments, Draco staring at the fascinating specimen cabinet, his eyes drawn to a small jar into which a dead octopus had been squeezed.

"Draco?" Snape broke him out of his reverie and Draco glanced up to see the Potions Master taking a seat beside him, a look of concern on his face.

"Hmm?"

"I know that you thought I reprimanded you a little harshly yesterday," Snape said slowly.

"I never said that." He had entertained the idea briefly but hadn't given it much thought.

"You didn't have to," Snape said wryly, his mouth quirking into a faint smirk. "Your glower spoke volumes."

Draco sighed in a long-suffering manner. "It's a family thing. It comes with the name. You should see my father's when the house elves iron a crease in his trousers," he said, grinning slightly. "It's terrifying."

"Yes, quite." Snape coughed decorously. "What I mean is, I want you to know that it was out of concern that I spoke to you like that."

Draco narrowed his eyes for a moment, wondering where this conversation was heading as it was completely out of character for Snape to express any semblance of paternal concern. Draco knew it was there, but it was more usual for it to be conveyed through a quick nod and instructions to take care of himself. He supposed their sudden unconsciousness must have caused more anxiety than he thought. "I know that," he said. "Severus, is everything alright?"

"Yes of course," Snape replied at once, not quite looking at Draco. "I merely wanted to make you aware of how worried I was for your well-being. You may not always see it, Draco," he sighed, "but I am very fond of you." He fixed Draco's eyes with his own, which were dark for such sallow skin, and seemed shot with obsidian.

"I know," Draco said quickly, feeling inexplicably like a child in the face of this clumsy reassurance.

"Which is why I feel I must ask you—" Snape trailed off, looking discomfited.

"Yes?" Draco prompted, eager to get to the heart of the matter.

"This…attachment to Potter," Snape said, and looked away again.

Draco wasn't sure that this was an avenue he wanted to explore with his teacher. After the unplanned revelation the previous day absolutely nothing had been said and he was rather hoping to let the matter fade quietly into insignificance in Snape's mind. Unfortunately it seemed as though his hopes were not about to be fulfilled. "Ah."

"How on earth did it come about?" Snape asked, a mild desperation apparently mingling with his curiosity.

"Well, you know, opposites attract and all that," Draco said, knowing that a blush was rising to his cheeks. He sighed and looked at his feet. "We did have a lot of time to spend together with no-one else to talk to. Our future selves were living together and we learned a lot about each other in a very short space of time. I know you hate him, and I can appreciate why, but he's not as bad as you might think." He chanced a look up at Snape. His face was impassive as ever but Draco fancied that there was hint of incredulity present in the curl of his mouth.

"Draco, he's the very antithesis to yourself and you've always despised him," Snape said after a few long moments of a very awkward silence. "I can't help but wonder whether you are—" he trailed off again.

"Having safe sex?" Draco asked, a trace of wickedness in his smile.

Now it was Snape's turn to blush, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks and fully gratifying Draco's sense of sadism. "No, you idiotic boy," he said and paused again. "Making the right decision," he finished.

"Oh." Draco sat back in his chair and tried not to fiddle with his hair. "Don't worry, I can look after myself," he said.

"I don't doubt that," Snape replied, busying himself with tidying up several coloured bottles that stood on the table. "Draco, just be careful. I can't tell you how much I wish you'd chosen to bed a Slytherin, but if you've set your heart on having Potter then I suppose there's nothing I can do." He looked almost downcast and Draco had the horrible edge of a feeling that Snape felt almost betrayed by Draco's choices and actions. He knew how much of a shock it must have been but knew also how difficult his choices were going to prove to be, without the people closest to him resenting him for making them.

"No," he said firmly, "there isn't. I know you worry about me, and I have always been quick to take your advice, but I'm sorry, Severus, this time everything is different. I'm different."

All feigned indifference was replaced by an intense sadness that Draco could only feel himself, in the very core of his person. "I can see," Snape said softly, so softly that Draco almost didn't catch the words. "At some point in the last six weeks you've grown up." He raised his eyes to meet Draco's again. "I am very sorry I missed it."

Outside, Harry was waiting for him, leaning casually against the stone wall of the corridor, gazing into space, a faraway look crossing his clear features. The rooms were below ground level and the flickering torchlight caught at the shadows under his eyes and jaw and for a split second they cast them into darkness, making him look gaunt and tired, and very young. Draco shut the door behind him with a soft snap and Harry peeled himself from the wall so they could walk together.

"How'd it go?" he asked and Draco shrugged, feeling rather despondent.

"Not bad," he said. "You?"

Harry had been with Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, undergoing the same examination as Draco. "Ok," he said. "She poked and prodded me a bit but at least she gave me a Ginger Newt. Everything ok? You look a bit down."

Draco shrugged again then, feeling like an idiot, said, "just something Professor Snape said. He thought I'd grown up and he was sad that I missed it." Harry said nothing but Draco could feel him shooting a look of concern. "I just feel a bit as though there's this distance between us now that I don't quite know how to cross." He suddenly felt a bit embarrassed about telling Harry this, although he supposed that if he was going to tell anyone, it might as well be Harry. "Doesn't matter," he said quickly. He felt an arm move around his shoulders as they were walking and Harry was suddenly much closer, his body a line of warmth next to Draco.

"Sure it does," Harry said quietly, not looking at the Slytherin. They turned to go up the flight of stairs that led to the Entrance Hall when Harry stopped briefly. Draco looked up to see Ron standing at the top of the stairs, his back to them and his mouth split into a grin as he talked to his sister. "I know how you feel," Harry said and Draco didn't even need to look at him to know how disconsolate he would look.

Hogwarts was a veritable hive of activity and when the inclination descended, an infallible source of information, however potentially untrue or distorted. Harry Potter, most high profile student to ever attend the school, had been comatose for over six weeks and as a consequence the entire school was buzzing with the news that he was awake. That Draco had shared in his misfortune was of huge interest also when it transpired that such hugely hostile rivals had shared more than the bad luck involved in screwing up a difficult potion.

"No way." Hannah Abbott shook her head vehemently, so that her sandy pigtails swung in her freckled face. Her mouth was set in a stubborn line and her upturned nose wrinkled in disbelief. "I don't believe it."

Ernie Macmillan, who was sitting opposite to her, paused in eating his plate of goulash and cast her a smug look. "Dispute it all you like," he said, straightening his robes pompously, "but they were _seen_."

Hannah's mouth dropped open. "Who by?" she asked.

Ernie smiled enigmatically. All the Hufflepuffs in the surrounding area had their eyes fixed on their prefect. "The Gryffindor sixth-year boys," he said. "Apparently they shared a _bed_ the night Harry woke up."

"No!" Hannah exclaimed. "That's crazy! It's Harry and Malfoy!"

"It's true!" Ernie replied, nodding. All the Hufflepuffs were talking to their neighbours, casting curious glances over to the Gryffindor table and whispering to each other excitedly.

"I heard it was a spell!" a ginger-haired fourth year piped up from across the table. "I heard that Malfoy bewitched Harry into falling in love with him because he's fancied him for ages!"

"Harry Potter, bane of the Dark Lord bewitched by Malfoy?" Ernie scoffed. "I don't think so, somehow." The fourth year looked downcast. "No," Ernie went on. "They were attracted to each other, pure and simple."

Hannah sighed dreamily. "How romantic."

The Gryffindor boys weren't taking the news quite so well as the Hufflepuffs. They sat in a dejected silence that morning at breakfast, each inwardly hoping that neither Harry nor Draco would come to breakfast and thereby spare them further discomfiture. They obliged. After the awkwardness that morning they had hidden themselves away about the school, just enjoying each other's company in a seclusion that would soon prove rare. After spending so long with only themselves and their uncertainties, to be thrown back into a place of nostalgia and kaleidoscopic demands was all too intense. The mind takes time to adjust, a fact much lamented by the eager gossips of Hogwarts, all keen on hearing first hand about the consequences of a badly made Pertho Draught and forced companionship with one's sworn enemy.

The Slytherin dorm was nestled in the very depths of the castle, beneath layers of crumbling corridors and a receding dankness that seemed to settle in the stone walls between which they inhabited. The common room, spun with its silvers and greens, was a flurry of familiarity as Draco entered it, filling his core with a bittersweet nostalgia. The smell of the air, slightly reminiscent of the dying embers in the grate and the rich leather of the old sofas, was homely and comforting. It was absolutely deserted and Draco felt like he was coming home after a long journey. He ran his fingers across the cloth of the throws and cushions, the cold stone of the fireplace, the papery levels of the notice board with some satisfaction. Here was a familiarity he had craved without realizing it. This place had been his home for so long that it was hard to envision ever leaving it, hard to envision ever breaking free from the memories that were so deeply entrenched within his mind. It was like an echo repeating itself to some inner part of him, folding over the old sense of contentment with a renewed recognition that seemed to open his eyes differently to everything about him. Suddenly it was all new and marvellous for being so.

He slid open the door to his dormitory and entered inside. The silent line of beds looked as it had ever done and Draco was overcome with a sense of childlike excitement that claimed him completely. Caving to it, he jumped backwards onto his neatly made bed and lay sprawled, gazing absently at the canopy of green that hung above him. He sighed.

"I wondered when we'd be seeing you." The voice was quiet but Draco sat up with a start, his heart thudding. He looked around and spotted Gregory Goyle sitting on the edge of his bed, the tousled hair and heavy eyes suggesting he had obviously just been disturbed while sleeping.

"Goyle." Draco tried for polite inquiry, but his voice came out more as a croak. He coughed.

"So you're awake then," Goyle said, with no hint of a question in his voice. "We heard all about it, of course, the whole school knows."

"Heard about what?" Draco asked, deflating slightly. He had always been on excellent terms with Goyle whom he had regarded as one of his most faithful friends. This attempt at cold conversation was a novel method of interaction which Draco didn't much care for.

Goyle shrugged. "The lot," he said and fidgeted a bit on his bed. He wasn't looking directly at Draco; he fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall instead. "We heard from Snape as soon as you woke up but we expected you to come back last night. When you didn't, we heard from the Ravenclaws about you and…Potter."

"Oh." Draco picked gingerly at some imaginary lint on his bedspread. "That."

"Yeah." Goyle sighed. "You were out for six weeks, Draco, we thought—"

"I'm sorry," Draco said quickly.

"For what?" Goyle asked, looking tired.

"I know what you think of me," Draco replied, artfully avoiding such direct questions. "What you must have thought when you heard about Potter—"

"Of all people," Goyle cut him off. "Of all people, Draco, I don't understand it."

"I'm not asking you to," Draco said slowly. "I'm not even asking you to accept it."

"Good." Goyle sounded irritated. "Because he's a stupid, Gryffindor wanker."

Draco didn't say anything in response to this, feeling that it might just exacerbate the situation further. He could hear snatches of noise and conversation drifting up from the common room and realized that the students must have begun to file back in. Footsteps neared them and the door slammed open unceremoniously to reveal Crabbe, Blaise and Pansy, all apparently deep in conversation. Their jaws dropped on beholding Draco who gave them a little wave.

"Hi," he said, for want of something better.

"You- you're here," Blaise said incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

Draco felt a small grasp of annoyance. "Would you rather I left?" he asked in his best effort at disdain.

"I…" Blaise trailed off. "No," he said. "S'just weird to see you after so long. Wasn't sure if you'd want to hang out with us any more when you woke up."

"Word is you've got new friends now," Crabbe supplied helpfully. "Or maybe 'friend' isn't quite the right word, is it, Draco?"

Draco knew that this might be the reaction he met when he came here. He knew that as sons of Death Eaters, his friends equated to sworn enemies of Potter, which might prove fatal at one point for someone or another. Draco didn't particularly want to consider that. He slid fluidly off the bed and leaned against the post, crossing his arms against his chest. Crabbe and Blaise still stood in the doorway, Pansy's face peering apprehensively over their shoulders.

"Maybe not," Draco said carefully.

Blaise stepped forward, his face grim, dark shadows of righteous indignation lingering about his eyes and the set of his mouth. "Six weeks you were out," he said. "Six weeks and then you go and fuck off with _Potter_. Everyone knows about it, Draco, no matter how much you hide yourself away." Draco wondered at his voice. He had known Blaise for a long time, and prided himself on being able to detect even the faintest traces of emotion in his friend's voice. Here there was no sense of menace, just complaint. "You have any idea how worried we were about you?" Blaise went on. "No-one knew if you were ever going to wake up, your father came down and raised all kinds of hell-"

Draco hated seeing Blaise like this, his mouth bitten to bloodiness and his eyes shadowed with sleepless nights. "Blaise…"

"…and then just to finish it off, you go and shack up with Potter!" Blaise finished, looking as though he was torn between fury and concern. Draco became very aware of the roaring in his ears, of Blaise's words washing over him, dousing him with the presence of another person, another set of memories. Once he would have given in to his rising anger and sense of pride and hexed Blaise to shut him up but now he wasn't that person any more. So much inside him had changed, so many priorities had shifted violently so that all that was left was a sense of discovery, complete and unsettling.

He took a deep breath. "Blaise," he said again.

"What?" Blaise snapped, although Draco was sure he could see hurt more than anything on his friend's face.

Draco moved towards him slowly before stalling any protest by folding his arms around Blaise and pulling them close together in an awkward, impromptu hug. There was a horrible second where Draco felt Blaise stiffen and worried that he would push him away. The edges under his hands were unfamiliar and bony but after a moment the rigidity in them relaxed and Blaise just collapsed against him, his face nestled somewhere in Draco's collarbone, his breath warm and ragged against Draco's skin. The moment broke and Draco tightened his arms to contain his limp friend who wound his hands around his neck and clung on to him, murmuring in his ear.

"…thought you were dead," Draco caught. "Thought we'd lost you."

"I know," Draco whispered back. "I'm sorry."

Blaise pulled back a little, his lovely dark eyes full of emotion and he managed a weak smile. "Potter?" he asked, a bitterness returning briefly.

Draco sighed and shrugged. "Something changed," he said. "Lots, in fact."

Before Blaise could say anything, Pansy had pushed past Crabbe and jumped on Draco, flinging her arms around his neck, the force carrying him back against the bedposts. He let out a muffled noise of surprise but circled her with his arms and let her sob, relieved, into his shoulder. The air seemed to lift as though a cool breeze had suddenly sliced through the searing tension, settling disputes and clearing the air of every ill-feeling.

"We couldn't even come and see you that often," Blaise said. "Snape said it wouldn't do any good, especially for you. He thought you'd be mortified if you knew we'd seen you without you having your hair brushed for six weeks."

That was when Draco knew everything was going to be alright.

Painted chests rose and fell, accompanied by the soft snores of every Headmaster or Mistress of Hogwarts since the 1300's. They hung on the walls of Dumbledore's office, offering advice when it was little needed and telling him when they thought he needed to change the décor. Fawkes, with his violent red and gold plumage, was snoozing as well, his head tucked under one wing, the feathers of his tail twitching occasionally.

Dumbledore was sitting on one side of his mahogany desk, tinkering with his various spindly silver instruments whilst Professor McGonagall sat on the other side sipping delicately at some Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.

"It's quite remarkable," she said after a few minutes quiet. "For those two to—" she broke off, not quite knowing where to look. "I would never have believed it."

Dumbledore sighed, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Ah Minerva," he said, looking up at her and plucking something from a pocket inside his robes, "the human heart is just as complex as this rubix cube. You never quite know what will happen when you try to move pieces of it." He produced a small rubix cube and started fiddling with it.

Professor McGonagall raised one eyebrow. "I beg your pardon, Albus?" she said, staring at the toy in his hands. "Rubix what?"

"Ah, forgive me," Dumbledore offered her the cube. "It's a muggle toy I have become particularly fond of. No matter what colour robes I have chosen to wear, it is very obliging and matches every outfit."

"Yes, indeed," Professor McGonagall said to this declaration. Sometimes words just failed her.

"I agree with you when you say that this situation is remarkable, though," Albus said amiably, "but I think, not unwelcome."

"No." McGonagall swirled the amber liquid around her glass before settling down on the edge of the desk. "It will be nice not to have to break up so many duels. Those two were always the most violent rivals, Potter knows so many hexes and Malfoy," she shuddered slightly, "I dread to think where he gets his knowledge from." She looked grave for a moment before casting her eyes up to the headmaster and adopting a more curious expression. "I wonder, Albus," she said.

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Yes?"

"All this came about because they saw themselves as…lovers," McGonagall went on, apparently a little uncomfortable with such terminology when it concerned the pair in question.

"I believe so," Dumbledore replied as benignly as ever.

"But won't their future now change _because_ they know this?" she asked. "Are they at risk now from meddling with fate?"

Dumbledore did not answer for many moments and knotted together his withered hands atop his silver beard, which shone brightly in the candlelight. He looked thoughtful. "Fate, Minerva, is the most subtle and intricate web that we in our short lives will ever know," he said slowly and without humour. "Everything that has happened was meant to happen or it would not have done."

"I suppose," McGonagall said.

"Not even the gods themselves would be willing to touch fate," Dumbledore said, shrugging his old shoulders. "Imagine if Zeus had spared Sarpedon? Such havoc would have been wreaked."

McGonagall scoffed. "Oh come now, Albus," she said briskly. "You can't possibly believe in such myths."

Dumbledore just smiled again. "Ah, I am but an old man and at liberty to believe in whatever I choose," he replied. "Fate will bring about the right ends, for everyone. Observe." He picked up an instrument that stood on the corner of his desk and gave it a quick polish with a cloth. It was shaped rather like a child's spinning top, except it seemed to be forged from silver, was very heavy and had a certain glow about it that immediately marked it as highly magical.

"Another of your toys?" McGonagall asked, raising the second of her eyebrows.

Dumbledore did not look up at her, but instead busied himself with setting the instrument on its point. "Indeed, but a wizarding one for I fear the muggles lack the inclination to make such things," he said.

"What does it do?" McGonagall asked, unable to repress her curiosity.

"It is a simple divination device," Dumbledore said, "of a sort. It will indicate whether or not the future of Messrs Potter and Malfoy will be changed beyond recognition."

McGonagall was silent as Dumbledore tapped the instrument with his wand and it started to spin of its own accord. Faster and faster it spun, the silver becoming a single glowing line as it reflected the candlelight and then McGonagall let out a tiny gasp and held one hand to her mouth. The instrument had emitted a brief keening sound before the walls of Dumbledore's office had become the stage for a huge and sudden shadow theatre. Although the façade of the spinning instrument changed in no way, it seemed to be forming the shadows that leaped and danced over the walls haphazardly, forming recognizable shapes and huge masses of black.

"What does that mean?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore studied the shapes forming thoughtfully. One shape kept repeating itself over and over again, appearing between the other figures every so often, without changing at all. McGonagall couldn't quite make out what it was. A misshapen wand perhaps, or an arrow. Yes, that was closer.

Finally, the spinning stopped and the shadows receded from whence they came. The instrument fell still, resting on its side. Dumbledore picked it up in his hands, his lips twitching into a smile.

"Well?" McGonagall prompted him.

"Did you see the arrow?" Dumbledore asked her and she nodded. "Ah, a symbol if ever there was one, and its constancy was reassuring, no?" She did not reply. "It means," Dumbledore continued kindly, "that whilst material things, location and experiences may change, there will be one thing for them that will be unremitting and faithful. Now they have really found each other, they will love each other."

McGonagall looked surprised but before long her face, moved by Dumbledore's own pleasure, became one of vague satisfaction.

"It's a funny thing, time," she said after a while.

"Oh indeed," Dumbledore replied. "I quite agree."

Complex refrains of shifting sunlight and the subtle monotony of birdsong formed a laziness over the Hogwarts grounds that everyone outside was urged to succumb to. It produced a kind of reverie that made them unconscious of the day and its creeping shadows. The golden stands encircled them in their starry glow like a bracelet, and in the one place where Harry and Draco met to compete, they forged another battle of wills that created a sense of irony in the blazing path where their lips met.

"I've missed this," Draco said softly, looking down at the grass.

"What?"

"This," Draco gestured around at themselves, the castle and the grounds, "this, being young, having fun. After being denied a childhood for so long, and to then almost lose what little we had of being teenagers. I've missed it." He looked suddenly wistful and Harry felt his stomach jolt. He loved watching Draco, just watching him. He looked so beautiful, too effeminate to be handsome yet he carried the gracefulness to perfection.

The pair of them were seated on the bank of grass at the edge of the pitch, the air full of moving shapes as the Gryffindor Quidditch team met for a practice above their heads, captained by Ron on his Cleansweep Eleven. Harry was watching them absent-mindedly when Draco tapped his arm.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Over there," Draco pointed, "we've got company." Harry followed his line of sight to where a small group of Gryffindors and Slytherins were coming towards them.

He groaned. "What now?" After spending more than a month isolated with only each other for company had had serious effects on both boys. It now seemed natural for them to spend long periods of time alone together, and therefore it was with reluctance that they stood up to greet the intruders into their private world.

"Hello," Hermione smiled when they reached them, "we didn't see you at breakfast."

"Couldn't face it," Harry shrugged, "I didn't want to hear all the rumours being spread." Hermione held out a stack of toast, which Draco snatched hungrily.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said, looking amusedly at Draco.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry asked as they all moved to take seats in the stadium.

"As I said, we haven't seen you," replied Hermione, "not for ages, not properly. It isn't quite the same, talking to a comatose body. You start to wonder if you're actually talking to yourself, becomes a bit unnerving after a while."

Harry felt immediately remorseful, even though he had done nothing to merit it. He supposed, though, that he should have paid more attention to Ron and Hermione since he had been back. He had been so wrapped up in Draco that his feet had barely touched the ground. "I know, I'm sorry," Harry rubbed thoughtfully at the back of his neck. "It's just weird, you know? I mean, we've seen you all the time." Leaning back underneath the welcoming glow of the warm sun, Harry and Hermione continued to talk quietly as Draco sat, eating toast with Pansy and Blaise.

"Have you talked to Ron?" Hermione asked, looking up to see the redhead in question hurl the quaffle at Ginny who shot it neatly through the centre hoop.

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, a little sadly. "He's avoiding me."

"Ok team!" they heard Ron yell above them. "I'm going in but I want ten minutes more practice on that manoeuvre you just learnt." Harry looked up to see Ron swoop down on his broom, landing heavily and heading towards the changing rooms.

Hermione nudged him. "Where's Draco?" she asked. Harry looked around, Blaise and Pansy were sitting by themselves.

Draco let the door to the changing room shut behind him with an audible click. Ron looked up in surprise. "Oh. What do _you_ want?" he asked, pointedly not looking at Draco, his lips pressed together and firm lines of tension appearing on his face. He unbuckled the leather arm guards and tossed them roughly to the floor.

"To talk, Weasley," Draco said, sighing and leaning as nonchalantly as possible against the lockers, "if you can bear to." His heart was pounding in his chest as he watched the redhead tense visibly.

Ron turned his back on him, unzipping his Quidditch bag with careful, studied movements. "I have nothing to say to you."

Draco felt his temper rise. "Well I do," he said, a little more snappishly than he had first intended. "And you'll listen to me."

"Oh yeah?" Ron whirled round, nostrils flaring angrily. "Go on, Malfoy, why's that?" He strode towards Draco until he was standing right in front of him, and then he shoved him lightly on the shoulder, just enough to propel him backwards so that he banged against the lockers.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Get off me and stop being such a prat," he said brushing Ron's hand off him roughly. "Where are your manners?" He injected as much disdain as he could into his voice.

"You come in here demanding to talk to me and you say _I'm_ bad mannered?" Ron scoffed, disbelieving.

"Yep," Draco said without missing a beat. "Now listen to me."

Ron's temper was clearly rising, a rich flush colouring his cheeks and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Why the fuck shou—" he began, before Draco cut him off.

"Because it's about Harry."

Ron faltered for the very briefest of moments. "I don't want to hear it," he said, not meeting Draco's eyes. "Go away, Malfoy."

"No," Draco replied, wishing very much that he could do just that. He sighed. "I don't like you, Weasley, and I know exactly how much you'd like to hang me upside down outside Gryffindor Tower. But Harry, for some strange and unfathomable reason, is miserable without you."

Ron spun around again and shook his armguards at him in irritation. "That's all your fault!" he exclaimed.

Draco waved this fact away with one hand. "Details," he said dismissively. "Are you really telling me that you'd be prepared to give up five years of friendship just because you don't like his choice of…company?" he asked, choosing his words carefully.

"This is none of your business!" Ron cried and Draco felt his own sense or anger renewing itself inside him.

"Fuck off!" he spat. "You just reminded me how much all of this is my fault so don't start that one."

Ron came very close to him again, his entire body tensed with an anger that was suddenly cold and unbearable and present in every line of his form. "Do you know what, Malfoy?" Ron asked through a clenched jaw. "I wouldn't care if Harry fancied Seamus, Filch or that pot plant over there. It's you I can't stand. I would be ok with absolutely anyone but you." The sheer hatred that Ron managed to convey in those words surprised Draco a little. He congratulated himself for a moment before coming to his senses and realizing that this antipathy was potentially destructive.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because!" Ron yelled desperately. "You are an insufferable, arrogant git that has done everything possible to make us unhappy while we've been here! Harry might have taken leave of his senses and forgotten everything you've done to us, but I haven't!" He was pacing now, backward and forward across the room, almost as if he was delivering a monologue instead of talking to Draco, who stood on the periphery, listening intently. "What about those Potter Stinks badges you tormented him with in fourth year? Or when you insisted on reading out every scrap of humiliating news about him from the Prophet in front of everyone? Or in third year when you dressed up as a Dementor to make him fall off his broom? You didn't care about the horrible things he used to hear in his head when Dementors came near him because anything that hurt him was good for you! And now you come and claim a whole new part of his life and I'm supposed to just accept it? How long before you cast him aside and spill all his secrets to the Slytherins?" He rounded on Draco and shook one finger accusingly at him.

"I am not going to hurt Harry," Draco said as calmly as he could manage, whilst knowing it would do little good.

"I don't believe you," Ron replied promptly.

Draco saw Ron open his mouth to continue but cut him off quickly. "I don't give a damn because quite frankly I'm not here to have a touching reconciliation, belatedly realize you are actually quite a nice person and invite you out for drinks and reminiscing," Draco said sarcastically, trying to recall a little of his old self. "I'm here because the one person I care about more than anything in the world is upset because you won't talk to him. And as you so kindly pointed out, it's my fault and so I'm here to make you see sense and stop acting like a complete prick."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Ron cried and kicked over his broomstick.

"No!" Draco yelled, standing his ground. "You can dredge up every single instance of us behaving like brats if you like, such as the time you three left me hexed to within an inch of my life on the Hogwarts Express." Ron smirked at this and Draco bristled. "I'll thank you not to laugh, that was a highly traumatic experience."

"I can imagine," Ron replied.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. "You can hate me all you want, I don't care. Just don't take it out on Harry," he said with an edge to his voice that could have been construed as pleading if it was studied very closely. As much as Draco hated Ron, he couldn't stand the idea that Harry would lose something that meant so much to him. "He doesn't deserve it, after everything he's been through."

Ron was quiet for a long moment and Draco could hear his heart beating in his ears as he wondered how the Gryffindor would react. Would he start shouting again and start throwing things? At least that would be entertaining for a while. Hardly productive, though. "Are you done?" Ron asked, after apparently doing some very quick thinking.

Draco narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Did I mention that I would never hurt Harry?" he asked.

"Yes," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"Then yes, I'm done."

"Fine," Ron replied shortly and continued to fold his discarded clothes.

Draco's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. "Fine? Fine what?" he asked, frustrated. Ron went to go into the showers, seemingly ignoring Draco, which would never do at all. "Come back here!" he yelled.

"Ron?" The voice was Harry's. "What's going on?" He was standing in the doorway, framed with the light from the Quidditch pitch, his skin flushed from the outdoors and his eyes bright and laced with concern. He looked a little uncertain as he addressed Ron, obviously unsure as to the cordiality of the response he could expect, but Draco knew that finding himself and Ron alone in a room would usually indicate a fight about to break out. No wonder Harry was worried.

"I—" Ron said, turning round.

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked, looking between the pair. Draco was stubbornly silent. He had said his piece and had made his point quite satisfactorily. It was Ron's call now, whether he wanted to sacrifice the first friendship of his life and Harry's that had ever meant something. Draco hoped he would make the right choice. He shrugged and looked over at Ron.

Ron's shoulders dropped with weariness and resignation and his voice, when he spoke, held no malice or accusation. "Yeah," he said, his tone a half sigh. "Yeah it is. I'm just going for a shower but I'll meet you guys out here in a bit."

"Ok," Harry said, his face brightening visibly in a way that made Draco's heart beat just a little faster. "Thanks." Ron nodded briefly before vanishing into the shower area, leaving Harry and Draco alone together.

"So I'm the person you care most about in the world?" Harry asked, turning to Draco with a grin on his face.

"You were listening?" Draco exclaimed, shocked. "Potter, you dick!" He slapped him on the arm but Harry caught him and tugged him against his body. With a deliberate slowness he wrapped his arms around Draco, locking them tightly together in their own island of warmth and affection.

"Actually you were very persuasive," he said, his voice low and husky. "The insults were an especially nice touch." Draco smiled at him, unable to help it. "Thank you," Harry said, even more softly and hugged him. "I mean it."

"Never say I don't fucking love you," Draco growled, "whether it took a trip to the future to realize it or not. I almost miss that life, I can't wait until it's reality, so to speak."

Harry knew just what he meant. The vague recollections that he had about his time in the future were all centred around the lingering feelings of sublime comfort, luxury and happiness. His life had seemed filled with the glorious sensation of his own self-determination. He had power, friends, success, and above all, freedom. He had the freedom to make his own choices, to love, lose and live as he pleased. He had the freedom to be with Draco and hidden away from prying eyes. He hoped the years would speed quickly by and that their prospects would remain the same as they had foreseen. With adulthood would come an intense liberty.

"Well, you know what they say," Harry grinned, "_tempus fugit_."


End file.
